Contemplative Silence
by LauraCynthia
Summary: Ever wondered what Spock does on his off-duty hours? Leonard McCoy finds out, much to his complete and utter confusion. UPDATE: McCoy gets sick. (But not JUST of silence...)
1. Silence 101

Leonard McCoy stopped just short of entering one of the _Enterprise_ 's private recreation rooms, a bowl of replicated corn curls in one hand. It was already occupied, and judging by the straight, black hair peeking up over the movable couch, it was the man who he struggled to comprehend on a daily basis.

Unsure if Spock minded his sudden intrusion, he slowly crossed the room and sat down next to him on the couch, setting his bowl down on the low table before them. "So, whatcha watching, Spock?" he asked, settling back. "Not a comedy, _that's_ for-" His chuckle died off as he realized the screen in front of them was blank. Not a sound emanated from the speakers, either. "Spock? Uh…" He waved a hand in front of the Vulcan's face. Spock didn't blink. McCoy snapped his fingers. "Hello? New Vulcan to Spock, come in."

"Please cease the clamor, Doctor. It is wholly unnecessary."

"Just checkin' to see if you're still awake. Why are you watching that blank screen on mute?" McCoy questioned.

"It is not blank, nor mute. I am watching a program called _Contemplative Silence._ If you care to join me, that is acceptable."

McCoy paused, his hand poised over the bowl of snacks. "Who in tarnation would ever _create_ such a show, let alone watch it?"

"It is of Vulcan origin. I find it quite stimulating." Spock's concentration didn't even waver. "The fact that you cannot comprehend it is not unusual."

McCoy shifted in his seat. "Well, why not just turn off the viewer and watch the blank screen? It's illogical to waste energy when you don't have to."

"Computer, pause program," Spock ordered. "If I were to merely do as you say, Doctor, it would _not_ achieve that effect." He shifted in his seat. "Knowing that the screen was deactivated, my eyes and mind would tend to stray. That is not the case with _Contemplative Silence._ Or should I say, _was_ not the case before you interrupted me." His tone took on a distinct edge as he finished, returning his attention to the screen one more.

"I still don't get it. This is just crazy. A whole show based on the idea of silence and nothingness." McCoy took a handful of corn curls and popped them in his mouth, crunching loudly, a bit of a grin curving his mouth. "Some program. I'll tell you one thing, though. Couldn't adapt it into a motion picture."

"The sequel comes out next Wednesday," Spock added.

McCoy choked on his corn curls.


	2. Over The Cliff

"I still can't believe it," McCoy muttered, plopping down on the opposite end of the couch. "It's a TV show _and_ two films?" He idly tapped one finger on the armrest.

"Indeed." Spock steepled his fingers together. " _Contemplative Silence_ has won several Surak awards for its cinematography and visual effects, as well as a T'Plinth medal of merit for the soundtrack."

McCoy paused. " _Soundtrack?_ What soundtrack?" He cast one hand toward the screen. "'But Doctor, can't you hear it?" McCoy mocked, clasping both hands to his heart. "'The strains of the violin? The steady beat of the drums? The choir harmonizing?'" He threw his hands up in the air. "Argh! And cinematography? Visual effects? How do you figure?" he finished, breathing heavily.

"Not only has the silence been expertly composed and mixed, the blackness is rich and vibrant high definition," Spock answered. "With my exceptional hearing and visual acuity, I can appreciate the nuances most people would miss."

"There. Is. Nothing. There," McCoy pleaded, standing in front of the Vulcan. " _Nothing._ "

"Exactly. As it should be. Now, if you will please cease blocking my view of the screen, I can continue my viewing." Spock pushed McCoy to one side. "Computer, play the last minute of the program over."

McCoy sat down, rubbing his temples. "What's the difference? Every minute is exactly the same as the last and the next, and the next…"

"Be quiet. I am watching the season finale. This is very tense."

"Season fin…" McCoy trailed off. "Of course. Of course you are. If there's a show, and a movie - _two_ movies, no less - of course there's a season finale." He stood up and walked over to a nearby replicator. "One cola, ice." A glass of soda materialized and he picked it up, taking a sip.

Spock didn't answer, his gaze glued to the screen. "Hmmm." He inched closer to the edge of the couch. There he perched for two minutes, before settling back with a sigh.

McCoy put a hand on Spock's shoulder. "Disappointed? Or have you come to your senses?"

"I will have to remain in suspense a while longer," Spock pressed his lips together. "A cliffhanger ending."

"What?" McCoy dropped his glass, sending cola and ice everywhere.


	3. A Novel Idea

The next time McCoy entered the private rec room, Spock was not seated on the couch. Instead, he was in a chair in the corner which faced away from the screen, engrossed in a paperback novel.

"Finally, you're doing something _normal_." McCoy flopped onto the couch, head at one end, ankles crossed at the other. "Computer, play the Starfleet Academy soccer semi-finals." A game appeared on the screen, and loud cheers emanated from the speakers. "C'mon, crush 'em!" McCoy shouted, pumping a fist in the air. A moment later, he glanced at Spock. "Oh, sorry. Am I disturbing you?"

Spock looked over the edge of his book. "No. Please continue."

"All right then." McCoy lowered the volume of the game and his voice. Though he tried to pay attention, however, it wasn't a very fast-paced competition, and his gaze kept straying to Spock. The Vulcan was practically glued to the pages, eagerly devouring the contents, with the occasional "ahh" or "hmmm". By the time half-time came around, he was more than halfway through the book.

McCoy muted the game and walked over to Spock's chair, hands on his hips. "That really looks like some book. What's it about?"

Spock's gaze didn't waver. "Were I to tell you, Doctor, I do not believe your response would be…pleasant," he finished, turning the page.

The doctor rolled his eyes. "Now don't tell me it's something to do with that crazy show of yours." He shook his head.

"You are correct. This is the novelization of _Contemplative Silence: The Motion Picture._ " He closed the book and held it out to McCoy. "You may peruse it, if you wish."

McCoy glared at the book as though it was a snake about to bite his hand, but in the end, curiosity won out. He grabbed the novel by the spine and opened it up. All of the pages were solid black. He flipped them in quick succession, searching for a word, a line, anything. "Unbelievable. This is your idea of a novel? Reading pages and pages of nothing?"

"Hardly nothing. By examining the empty pages, one's mind is allowed to search within rather than without."

McCoy tapped the book against the palm of his hand. "Uh huh. So tell me, which did you like better; the book or the movie?" He said this in a teasing tone of voice.

Spock thought for a moment. "The film was rather thought-provoking, but the novel went into more depth, including certain scenes which were excised from the original script. I find it more compelling when one is allowed to imagine rather than be shown everything."

McCoy smacked his lips together. "Right." Looking more closely at the page, he noticed several sections that appeared darker than others. "Ink distribution's not very uniform. Don't you find that distracting?"

Spock frowned. "Where?" McCoy passed the book to him, pointing to a dark section on the left page. "Mm. I see. That is not the original ink, Doctor. I have taken the liberty of highlighting certain passages that are particular favorites of mine." He picked up a black marker from the table. "Like so," he demonstrated, pressing the marker to a line and coloring over it.

Gritting his teeth together, hands balled in fists at his sides, McCoy said nothing as he left the room, soccer game forgotten.


	4. Are You Game?

The projectile missed its target completely.

McCoy let out a puff of air as the doors swished open behind him. Thanks to whoever had just entered the room, he had just missed out on his personal best score for the first person shooter game. Though he was a doctor, dedicated to saving lives, there were just times a man had to let off a little steam.

"Am I disturbing you, Doctor?" Spock stood near the end of the couch, hands behind his back. "I can return later, if you wish." He glanced over at the screen. "An impressive score. You are quite the marksman."

"Nope, that's okay." McCoy slipped off his gamer goggles. "Is that a game?" he asked, gesturing towards the object Spock was clutching.

"It is." Spock pressed the button to eject McCoy's program and replaced it with his. Handing the shooting game back to McCoy, he took the controller and settled onto the couch. "Would you care to play with me, Doctor?"

McCoy uncapped a bottle of water and took a swig. "I might." He set down the bottle and grabbed a second controller from a stand near the monitor and sat down. "What kinda game is it? Swordplay? Starship battles?"

Spock didn't answer him.

Sweat beaded on McCoy's forehead. "Racing? Strategy-based?" The screen was still blank. "Oh, for crying out loud, it's not that silence thing _again_?"

Spock nodded. "Would you like to play one on one or cooperatively?"

"How can you tell the difference?" McCoy flicked a controller stick forward. "They're both exactly alike."

"One on one it is, then. With the adversarial attitude you are currently manifesting, I doubt you would be interested in anything else." Spock pressed the down button. "Unless you'd like to play the story mode, that is."

McCoy blinked. "Story mode? What's the story?"

Spock lifted both hands in the air, palms up towards the blank screen.

The remote control slipped from McCoy's hand as he covered his face with the other one, shaking his head.


	5. It's Catching!

McCoy ambushed Kirk just as the captain was heading out of the mess hall. "Jim, you gotta help me," the doctor pled, grabbing him by both arms just below the shoulders and pressing him against the wall. "It's that blasted pointy-eared menace."

Kirk let out a long sigh. "Isn't it always?" He twisted out of McCoy's grasp. "What's he done now? Stood on his head in a corner of sickbay and recited Vulcan poetry backwards?"

"I wish he was. This you won't believe. Come on," McCoy continued, grabbing Kirk's arm again and dragging him down the corridor. "Of all the bizarre, idiotic…" he muttered.

"Where are we going?" Kirk asked, allowing himself to be pulled towards the end of the hallway, despite curious looks from a couple of crewmen who had just emerged from the turbolift. "This isn't the way to Spock's quarters, and the lab's that way," he added, pointing over his shoulder.

"If I'm right, he's in one of the private rec rooms. He's been coming to one in particular lately, to watch a ridicu-well, you'll see in a moment." They stopped at the door of the room and McCoy checked the secure status. "It's not locked. Good. I want you to see this for yourself." He tapped the panel and the door opened.

Spock was seated back straight against the couch, a book open on his lap. "Doctor," he acknowledged, never looking up from his book.

McCoy frowned. "How'd you-"

"You have visited me here every day since you first encountered me engaging in this activity. In Human terms, Doctor, it is not rocket science." Spock set down the book beside him on the couch and stood. "Captain. Is there a problem?"

"Depends on who you ask. Bones seems to think you've gone bats." Kirk sat down next to Spock's book, while McCoy took the chair in the corner. He glanced back and forth between Spock and McCoy a couple of times. "I dunno, Bones. He looks pretty sane to me."

McCoy snorted. "Oh, yeah? Check out that book he's been 'reading'." He stood up and grabbed the book before either Kirk or Spock could, flipping through its pages. "Pages and pages of absolute blank nothing. Does that say 'sanity' to you?" He weighed the book in one hand. "It's a bit bigger than last time. What's this, the large print edition?" he asked, laughing dryly.

"No, Doctor. It is the graphic novel," Spock replied, all seriousness.

McCoy dropped the book flat on the floor. The low thud echoed around the room. " _SEE?"_ he shouted, pointing at Spock and looking at Kirk. " _Contemplative Silence_ \- a show about blank, black, soundless _nothing -_ and it's got a graphic novel. A _graphic novel_ , no less." He grabbed Spock by the shoulders and shoved him towards Kirk. "Look, I'm all for understanding other cultures, and being considerate and all, but this has got to stop. It was bad enough when it was just a show. That I could live with. Vulcan meditation and all. But to have pop culture tie-ins that make no sense whatsoever…" He shook his head, one hand pressed to his forehead. "Just say something to him. Please. For me."

Kirk nodded. "All right." He turned to Spock and opened his mouth to speak, but then paused and turned back to McCoy. "Did you say _Contemplative Silence_?"

"Yes." McCoy clutched his stomach. "Why?" he rasped.

"Yes, Captain. The program I was telling you about at lunch yesterday." Spock walked towards the screen and turned it on. "I suppose now is as good a time as any to fulfill your end of the deal. That is, if you are not otherwise occupied," he added, seating himself.

"Nah, I'm on break." Kirk walked over to the couch and sat beside Spock. "Let's do this."

McCoy frowned. "Jim? What are you doing?"

Kirk smiled awkwardly. "Yesterday, I finally got Spock to play that zombie warrior game in the holodeck with me."

"He has been asking me to join him for a month." Spock frowned, as though he had just bitten into rotten food. "I found it most distasteful. As I am sure you would have, Doctor."

"Speaking of distasteful…what's that got to do with _Shut Up And Think-"_

"- _Contemplative Silence_ -" Spock corrected him.

"-yeah, yeah. Go on, Jim," McCoy continued. "So you played zombie hunters with Spock. And?" he asked, waving his hand, encouraging Kirk to go on.

"And…in return, I agreed to watch his thing with him." Kirk gave half a laugh and turned so he was facing the screen. "All right. Here we go. Gonna get my silence _on_ ," he added, leaning forward and rubbing both palms together.

McCoy threw both hands up in the air. "Why me? Why? _Why_?"

" _Shhh!"_ Kirk held one finger to his lips, an impish grin on his face. "Silence, remember?"


	6. Playable Characters

"Knock, knock." McCoy rapped against the doorframe, tambourine in his other hand. "Can I get in a little practice in between silences?" He fought to keep the smile from his face. If Spock could annoy him, McCoy could give as good as he got.

He gave the noisemaker a good rattle as he entered the room, surprised when laughter reached his ears. "Huh?" Instead of Spock, three Humans and an Andorian looked his way. A small colorful board game lay on the table with four pawns in play. The Andorian was paused in the middle of rolling the dice. "Oh, sorry. My apologies folks. I, uh," McCoy scratched his head, "was expecting somebody else."

"You want to play, Doctor?" Petty Officer Marek offered. The blond man shifted to one side to make room for McCoy. "We just started."

McCoy shook his head. "Nah, that's okay." He turned to leave the room, then stopped. "Say, you wouldn't by any chance know where the first officer is, would ya?" The players shook their heads. "Thanks anyway." Exiting the room, he headed down the hallway to the common recreation area.

After asking around, he finally ran into Chandler from linguistics, who directed him to the holodeck. McCoy checked the signup roster and discovered that Spock had suite 3 booked for two hours, beginning half an hour ago. He walked down the hall until he came to the door and pressed the comm button. "Spock?"

A soft sigh came over the comm. "Enter, please." McCoy passed through the door and into pitch blackness. "Spock? Where are you? I can't see a blasted thing!"

"Follow the sound of my voice." There was a definite edge to Spock's words. "Over here, Doctor."

McCoy moved hesitantly in the direction of Spock's commands, trying to avoid tripping over anything. "Wouldn't it be easier to just turn on the lights?" he huffed, taking a position next to a dark form that was undoubtedly Spock. As he shifted from one foot to another, the tambourine rattled.

"Easier for _you._ If you are unaware, I am attempting to experience a simulation. The effects of your intrusion can only be mitigated if you follow the rules." He paused to inhale deeply. "What is that noise?"

McCoy held up the tambourine. "Oh, this? I went to the rec room, thinking you'd be there. Wanted to crash your quiet little party, but I walked in on a board game instead."

Spock frowned. "That would have been unkind."

"Which was kinda the point." McCoy bent over and set the instrument down gently. "What are you doing in here? Testing your night vision?"

"I already told you. Participating in an interactive simulation. That is what a holodeck is for, correct?"

McCoy placed his hands on his hips and looked around, peering into the darkness. "Doesn't look very interactive to _me_. In fact, I'd say it's downright _dull_. Where are all the zombies?"

"As I already told you, I found that game distasteful. I would not participate in it by myself." Spock closed his eyes.

"Then what is this? I-" All of the blood drained from McCoy's face. "No. Oh, no." Tears formed at the corners of his eyes. "Not that infernal show of yours." He sunk down to the ground. "It's got a _holoprogram_ , too?"

Spock nodded. "I obtained it at our latest port of call. It is quite challenging. Several levels of difficulty and playable characters to choose from." He inhaled deeply. "I am currently playing the role of Senak, seeker of silence and darkness. There is also Vatek, the mute master, and T'Ialani, high priestess of calm."

McCoy shrugged. "Wow, what a cast. Bet they'd be fun at parties."

Spock thought for a moment. "Were you to play, I would recommend Sokar the skeptic to you. He is initially critical, but gradually becomes woven into the fabric of quiet thought."

"As in, "oh no! they got to him!"" McCoy held both hands up, face a mask of fear.

Spock eyed him critically. "Your comparison to cult-like brainwashing is inaccurate and misleading." He stood up. "Computer, change mode to dance." A dim black light appeared above Spock's head.

McCoy grabbed two handfuls of his own hair. "Dance, he says. _Dance_." He swept one arm sideways, then cupped his ear. "I don't hear any music. But of _course_ I don't. This is _Contemplative Silence_ , after all." He frowned in Spock's direction. The Vulcan stood ramrod straight in one place. "Aren't you going to move?"

"No. It disrupts my concentration." Spock's eyes remained closed.

McCoy squeezed his eyes shut. "What kind of dance is that? Standing still, not moving, no music-"

"Interpretive dance. I am attempting to evoke the image of a soundless night." Spock pursed his lips. "Could you not have guessed?"

McCoy rolled his eyes and grabbed his tambourine from the floor, jangling it loudly next to the Vulcan's ear. "Care to guess what _that_ is?" he growled sarcastically.

Spock's brow furrowed. "Your tambourine."

"Nope." McCoy smiled. "The inside of your brain." He shook it again. "Couldn't ya tell?"


	7. On The Go

" _Lastly, we would like everyone to remain in place for a brief moment of silence, starting now._ " The clear voice of Nyota Uhura ceased to sound over the intercom as McCoy passed through the doors of the science lab. With a soft sigh, he lowered his head, noting that several lab technicians around the room also set their devices down or ended their conversations mid-sentence. An enlisted engineering crewman crawled out from under a console and stood up, placing one hand over his heart, then dropped it to his side.

McCoy frowned at the crewman, whose eyes were now closed and therefore didn't notice. Mouthing a prayer, the doctor stood in place until Uhura signaled the end of the moment with a quiet, " _Thank you._ " As everyone settled back into their work routine, he approached a lab tech. "That's new," McCoy began. "Did we get news of some disaster over subspace?"

The tech scratched her head, confusion in her eyes. "I haven't heard anything. And I guess _you_ would know if it had been somebody on our ship."

McCoy nodded. "I s'pose it could be some anniversary or other. But you'd think somebody would tell us just what or who we're supposed to be mourning."

"Mourning?" The engineering crewman walked over to them, wiping his hands on his pants. "That's not why. It's some idea _he_ had." He pointed over his shoulder at a figure bent over a console. "Something about taking the time to think about stuff."

" _Who_ had?" McCoy asked, peering in the direction the crewman was indicating. The individual he was referring to was clad in a blue sciences top. As he reached for a memory tape, McCoy caught a glimpse of rank stripes. "Commander…silence _…no._ "

Passing the crewman, he came around until he was standing on the left side of the commander in question. Spock inserted the tape into his console and began to scan reams of text and graphical representations. "I was expecting you momentarily."

McCoy mouthed the phrase behind Spock's back in an exaggerated fashion. "Were you, now?" he drawled, crossing both arms over his chest. "Tell me something; how'd you do it?" He jabbed a finger in Spock's face. "And don't say "do what". You _know_ what."

The Vulcan removed the tape and exchanged it with another. "If you are referring to my arranging a ship-wide contemplative silence session without your input or knowledge, the answer is this; I made a request of the captain, and he agreed." He frowned. "I may have to alter the wording, though. The possibility of confusing the session with an opportunity to pay respect to the dead had not occurred to me." He turned back to the screen, studying it. "I imagine it was unsettling for those who did not understand its significance."

"Ironic, huh?" McCoy stretched both arms in the air. "Here you are, trying to calm everybody down and now you've got 'em all upset." As if to punctuate his statement, a lab tech bumped a stack of PADDs with his elbow, sending them clattering to the floor. "Lovely. More work for _my_ department."

"If your intent is to stand next to me complaining, I can assure you that your presence here will only exacerbate the situation." Spock raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps I should have introduced the crew to another method."

"Like?" The Vulcan shoved a glowing PADD into McCoy's hands. "Homework? Oh, that's _real_ soothing."

"Select the square on the bottom right."

McCoy glanced down at the screen. Several icons were visible, representing various computing programs. He tapped the small black square Spock had indicated and it grew to fill the screen. "Uh-oh. I think something's the matter with your file, Spock." He tapped the screen twice more, then shook the device, turning it back and forth in his hands and staring at it.

"You are incorrect, Doctor. The application is functioning correctly."

"Function…" McCoy's lips twisted. His jaw clenched. "It is, huh? And just what exactly is " _it_ "? Or need I ask?" He set down the PADD and fisted his hands, leaning on the desk.

" _Contemplative Silence_. Specifically, the app." Spock didn't flinch. "It is rather convenient for having silence "on the go"." I find it particularly helpful during long duty shifts when it is impossible to leave my posting." He regarded McCoy with a concerned look. "Something from which I believe _you_ would benefit as well, given the stressful nature of your position."

McCoy let out a long sigh. "And you think I ought to take a moment out of my busy schedule to stare into the fathomless depths of infinite blackness? Wouldn't it be easier to just close your eyes and plug your ears?"

"Hardly. As you yourself know, such an action would replace the clamor of sickbay with the sounds of one's own circulatory and muscular systems."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Okay, you got me. But suppose while I'm spacing out on visions of nothing, some crisis happens and I can't respond to it 'cause I've got my head jammed in a black hole?" When Spock said nothing, McCoy leaned in until he was almost nose to nose with the Vulcan. "And what if that crisis is _you?"_

Spock tilted his head to one side. "Then I shall try not to hold it against you," he replied. "Were that to be the case, I would have only myself to blame."

McCoy straightened up. "Well, don't hold your breath," he chuckled, "'cause I'm _not_ about to let that happen."


	8. Merchandise

McCoy stifled a yawn as he passed two crewmen conversing next to an empty window frame. A new panel of glass was propped up against the wall awaiting installation. He reached down to assure himself that his medkit was indeed slung across his shoulder when his right foot kicked something. He glanced ahead; a small tool kit sat in the middle of the hallway.

Frowning slightly, he paused, bent over and retrieved the object, tapping the nearest crewman on the shoulder. "'Scuse me. Would ya mind terribly not leaving obstacles where people can trip over them?"

The crewman turned and took the tool kit from McCoy. "Sorry, Doctor. I meant to get that."

McCoy nodded. "We've got enough to do in sickbay as it is," he muttered, his feet carrying him past several quarters before stopping at the entrance to the first officer's rooms. Lifting a hand, he rang the door chime.

Half a moment passed before the door finally opened. Spock stood in the doorway, his Starfleet issue sleepwear covered by a large fluffy rose-colored robe with flowery detailing up one side. A pair of equally fluffy slippers covered his feet. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were flushed pale green. He eyed McCoy up and down. "I was expecting a _nurse_ to visit," he stated, face darkening slightly.

"Good evening to you, too," McCoy replied dryly, pushing past the Vulcan towards a small card table. Removing his medkit from his shoulder, he set it on the table and opened it up. He could feel Spock hovering over him as he removed his tricorder and probe. Turning, he activated the device and began to scan Spock with its handheld probe. "Breathe deeply," he instructed, waving the probe up and down Spock's chest near his lungs. "You should wear pink more often," he added.

Spock drew in a breath, then tugged on the collar of the robe. "The robe and slippers are Nyota's. She was very… _insistent_ that I make use of them."

McCoy chuckled. "I kinda figured that. Cough," he added, and Spock did. "No shortness of breath? Pain?" At the shake of Spock's head, he ceased scanning. "Well, you've got a couple days to go yet, but you're improving. Don't even _think_ about going back to work until I give the okay."

"I had not planned to." Spock pulled out a chair and sat down. "Did you bring the medication?"

"Yeah." McCoy rooted around in his medkit and pulled out a small glass bottle. Spock raised his eyebrows but said nothing as a plastic spoon followed. Passing them down the table, he waited as the Vulcan uncapped the bottle and poured out a dark blue liquid onto the spoon, which he then stuck in his mouth, making a slight pucker. "It helps if you pinch your nose first," McCoy suggested.

Spock removed the spoon. "I shall remember that next time." Capping the bottle, he set the spoon down next to it and reached for a glass of ice water that was sitting nearby, taking a small sip.

"A nice bowl of steaming chicken soup wouldn't hurt, either." McCoy replaced his medical tricorder and probe and closed the kit. "Bet you're going stir crazy in here with no work to do."

"Not exactly." Spock pushed a thin paper book across the table. "I have been engaging in a recreational activity known as coloring. It is very relaxing."

"Coloring?" McCoy looked up. Several wax crayons were strewn across the table. A small cup filled with markers sat on Spock's right hand. "I suppose that was Nyota's idea, too?" He picked up the book and flipped through it idly, not paying attention to what was on the pages.

"She suggested it, but she did not provide the book." Spock studied him, then shifted his gaze to the book.

McCoy opened the book halfway. A black page stared back at him. Glancing at the crayons, he realized they were all black, too. The same went for the markers. He flipped the pages, slowly at first, speeding up as he went along; all were the same dark shade. Letting the back cover fall closed, he eyed Spock critically, as though he might have missed something with his tricorder. "I'd like to attribute it to delirium. I really would."

McCoy sighed, folding his hands in front of him on the table. "Please. Tell me. I want to know," he continued. "What on Earth do you find… _fun_ …about coloring-no _blackening-_ on black paper with black crayons and ink?" He put one hand down, palm flat. "Or any of this contemplative silence malarkey -" a brow lifted "-for that matter?"

"I happen to derive several benefits from this 'malarkey'." Spock picked up a crayon and pulled the book towards himself. "Regarding coloring; I find it to be far less taxing than coloring with colors. I am neither required to determine the ideal contrasting shade or conform to the usual color of any image in question, nor must I remain inside the lines." He opened the book to a page and began to color. The tip of the crayon made no sound against the page. "For someone who has been schooled to be precise and accurate in my work, I find it relaxing to simply perform a task with no prescribed outcome."

McCoy drummed his fingers on the table, stopping when Spock glared across the table at him. "To each his own." He noticed a small shelving unit had been bolted to the wall across the room. "What's all this?" he asked, gesturing towards a series of knick knacks.

"Merchandise," Spock replied, not looking up from his page. "I have amassed a considerable amount of items relating to _Contemplative Silence._ What you see before you comprises only a fraction of my collection."

"Collection?" McCoy repeated quietly. The top shelf contained several books and a small box of memory tapes, sorted by size. Below it, a stack of dark blocks were arranged in a pyramid. Two frames on small stands appeared empty, but upon closer inspection contained a black felt square of fabric each. A small round lidded box with a wind-up key sat on the end. McCoy wound the key a couple of turns and flipped open the lid. No sound came from the inside. McCoy coughed to clear his throat and was surprised when no sound came from his mouth, either. Snapping the lid shut, he put the "silence box" back and moved to the final shelf. Six soft furry round things sat there a few inches apart. "Don't tell me. _Contemplative Silence_ tribbles," he joked, picking up one and squeezing it softly.

"Please do not squish the plushies, Doctor." Spock pushed his chair back and stood up, hurrying over to the shelf. He grabbed the item from McCoy's hand and studied it closely.

"The _what_?" McCoy put his hands on his hips, mouth open in disbelief.

"There are six commemorative plushies. The one you were in the act of destroying is the rarest, and in mint condition. I would ask you to please not handle it roughly." Spock gave a final glance at the plushie before setting it back in its place on the shelf, glaring at McCoy.

"I'll give you "roughly"." McCoy raised a fist in the air and strode forward until he was standing nose to nose with the pink-robed Vulcan. "If that's not the most idiotic, ludicrous, _insane_ -"

Spock was just about to reply when the door behind them swished open. They turned to find Lt. Uhura standing behind them and clutching a package to her chest, her expression sheepish. "Hi, boys. Am I interrupting a smackdown?" She glanced between the two before stopping at McCoy.

The doctor's shoulders slumped. "Ah, no." He took two steps backwards and rubbed the back of his neck. "Spock was just showing me his, uh, collection." Red flushed his cheeks. "Of silence-obilia." He gestured towards the shelving unit. "I'll be going now," he added, inching around Spock and retrieving his medkit from the table.

"Silence? That reminds me." Uhura held out her package towards the Vulcan. "I was going to give this to you later, but I thought you might want to use it now. While you're recovering." She smiled.

Spock took the gift from her, obviously pleased. "What is it?" he asked, scrutinizing the underside of the package.

"Open it and see."

Spock walked over to the table and sat down, placing the gift on the table before him. He looked over his shoulder. "Thank you, Nyota."

"Did you finally get him some more Spock-like sleepwear?" McCoy leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Or is it a pink nightcap to match?"

Uhura covered her mouth with one hand, masking a smile. "No and no," she replied, watching as Spock untied the bow. "I'll give you a clue, though." She held one finger to her lips but said nothing.

Carefully removing the paper fold by fold, Spock opened up the package to reveal a small box about the size of his coloring book. Lifting it up, he tipped his head to one side. "A _Contemplative Silence_ paint-by-numbers set." He looked up at Uhura. "I was not aware they made one. Thank you."

She smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. "You like it?"

"Indeed I do." Spock set the box down on the table. "Doctor, would you like to-" They both looked towards the door as it swished closed. The sound of running footsteps echoed down the hallway.

"What's with him?" Uhura wondered aloud, gesturing towards the door.

Spock followed her gaze. "I believe his presence was needed elsewhere, or as he would say, "anywhere but here.""


	9. Horrifying

The dim lighting of _Enterprise_ 's corridors was the only indication of relative time of day apart from the lack of personnel on the recreation deck. McCoy had just finished a long shift in sickbay, but rather than exhaustion, he felt a keen sense of mental restlessness. His usual cure - a brisk session with the stress test equipment kept on hand for crew physicals - didn't appeal to him at the moment. Instead, he was looking for something that would challenge his mind for an hour or so, just long enough to tire him out.

He entered the main recreation area. Aside from two women playing three-dimensional chess and a male officer asleep with a PADD tucked under his arm, it was empty. A bowl of multicolored candies sat on a table; a few of them were sitting on the table in small piles sorted according to flavor. Drunk laughter floated down the hallway as a group of off-duty officers headed back to their quarters.

McCoy checked a wall monitor that was displaying various shipwide information, including the time. "0317. I guess I shouldn't have expected much at _this_ hour." He tapped the screen and noticed that a fairly large data burst had come through the previous day. Aside from intelligence and sector reports, several scientific lectures were available to stream, including those given at a three-day medical conference he had wanted to attend but couldn't, due to their distance from the starbase on which it had been held.

Just as McCoy had decided which of two speakers in particular he wished to hear first, he realized that his feet had already carried him to a room that was becoming more familiar by the week. He was about to step through the door when a bright flash of orange light met his eyes, accompanied by haunting flute music. A sharp intake of breath followed.

McCoy shielded his eyes just as the music ceased and the room darkened once again. Sitting down on one end of the couch, he was startled when the person next to him swiveled his head to face McCoy. "Doctor."

"Spock." McCoy put both hands up in front of his face. "Well, now that everybody knows who everybody is, care to explain why the mere sight of me freaks you out?" He lowered his hands slowly.

Spock's breathing rate decreased and his shoulders relaxed. "You surprised me. That is all." He stretched out his legs towards the floor and reached for a small remote, pausing the program he had been playing.

"Hey, at least you're not wearing that fluffy robe," McCoy joked.

Spock bristled. "I would very much prefer you to disregard that." The Vulcan was clad in civilian day clothes consisting of a loose-fitting gray striped shirt and a pair of blue pants. He reached towards a box and took a handful of food from it, then lifted the box towards the doctor. "Sustenance?"

"Sure." McCoy reached into the box and pulled out a handful of twisted black crisps. He popped them into his mouth and bit down, feeling a satisfying crunch. Oddly, he did not hear anything. Poking one finger into his ear and wiggling it, he looked back down at the box. It was a plain dark package. "Mmmm. What is this stuff?" He chewed and swallowed the mouthful of snack food, eyeing the box again.

Turning it back and forth in the dim light, he saw several raised letters. "Contemplative Silence Crunchies." He twisted in his seat and regarded Spock, who was watching him expressionlessly. "Crunchies. Half the reason people like crunchy food is because you can feel it when you eat. The _other_ half is the sound. You know, the _crunch_ sound."

Spock arched a brow. "Really, Doctor. One cannot contemplate and crunch at the same time."

McCoy considered that for a moment. "One cannot, huh? Then what's the point? Why not contemplative silence pudding? That's _naturally_ quiet to eat."

"Excellent idea. Perhaps you should suggest it to the manufacturer." Spock picked up the remote. "May I continue watching my movie now?"

"Actually, I was gonna-you know what? Go ahead." McCoy waved a hand at the monitor and Spock began the film again. Blankness filled the screen. The doctor leaned forward and tapped his lower lip thoughtfully. "Now let's see if I can guess what _this_ is…don't tell me, the making-of documentary." He reached for another handful of "crunchies".

"Hardly. That would require interviews and visuals. The _creation_ of the film was not accomplished in utter blackness." Spock rested one hand on the couch arm. " _Contemplative Silence_ has had several spin-offs, however. This is a horror movie entitled _Chaos._ "

McCoy rolled his eyes. "A _horror_ movie? In what way?" Just as he popped the snacks in his mouth, a bright flash of blue and yellow swirling shapes filled the screen, accompanied by the scream of an electric guitar. A loud yell echoed through the room as Spock jumped up from his seat and landed in McCoy's lap, prompting a howl from the doctor as the Vulcan elbowed him in the face. Spock clutched McCoy's collar with a double-handed vice grip as McCoy began to choke on the snacks.

Prying Spock loose and shoving him to the floor, McCoy jumped up and doubled over, coughing, trying to clear his windpipe and massage his cheekbone at the same time. Spock lay on his back, hyperventilating, eyes wide open for a few seconds before he registered McCoy's distress and rolled sideways, standing to his full height. On shaky legs he crossed the floor and clapped the doctor on the back several times until he could breathe again. He then activated the replicator and requested a glass of water, which he passed to McCoy, who gratefully accepted it, still kneading his face with one hand.

After a moment, they both settled onto the couch again, rattled and disheveled. Before another frightening scene could appear, Spock stopped the movie and settled back in his seat. "That was… _interesting_."

"Interesting?" McCoy chuckled, taking another swig of his water. " _That's_ puttin' it mildly. Leave it to Vulcans to find noise and color spine-tingling." He pointed towards the screen. "If I were you, I'd pass on that one."

"Indeed. I shall choose something more conducive to relaxation." A menu appeared on the screen. Spock leaned forward and scrolled down the listings before making a selection. The screen blanked for a second, before changing to a torch lit arena setting. "Ah. This will do." His body went slack against the back of the couch.

McCoy glanced at Spock, surprised at his choice of program. "The fights?" Spock did not reply, his gaze fixed on the screen. Two individuals stood in the middle of the ring, motionless. They were wearing dark hooded robes that went down to their ankles. Neither one appeared to be studying his opponent, nor did they carry any weapons. The audience was mostly made up of Vulcans, but a few other alien species and a couple of Humans all regarded the two individuals with interest.

After a few minutes of this, McCoy yawned softly, his heart rate now comfortably settled, wincing as the dull ache in his face where Spock had hit him throbbed. "What are they waiting for, anyway? An engraved invitation?"

"They are not waiting. The competition has already begun, Doctor." Spock blinked and turned up the volume.

" _Impressive discipline from both Venik and Sova as we move into the seventh consecutive hour of this event,"_ the Vulcan announcer whispered. " _Masters of their craft. This is the first time these two opponents have been matched against each other, and it has already been an impressive display."_

McCoy leaned toward Spock. "Some contest. All they're doin' is standin' arou-" He backed away as the Vulcan shushed him. "Okay, okay." A single shake of the head.

" _We have witnessed two opportunities for defeat already and-wait. This might be significant."_ One of the Vulcan competitors raised a hand to his mouth and coughed softly. A loud gong sounded from the shadows as the crowd stirred. The cougher frowned and stepped backwards into the darkness, while the silent Vulcan remained motionless and expressionless, now lit by a spotlight. " _Indeed. Venik has prevailed in a legendary fashion. Simply remarkable."_ The announcer was almost breathless. _"He can either conclude the competition now or attempt to break the all-time record. Let us now pause to re-examine the moment of victory."_ Several replays played, focusing on Sova's subtle cough and Venik's lack of reaction at the moment it occurred.

Spock turned down the sound, disappointment marring his features. "That was unexpected. Sova has had an exceptional season. I was certain the victory would be his."

"Ah well, you win some, you lose some." McCoy rested his head on the back of the couch, eyes closed. "Whatever that was supposed to be."

"That, Doctor, was _competitive_ contemplative silence."

McCoy's head jerked up. "Say what?" He looked towards the screen. Venik remained in place as though nothing had happened, breathing evenly. A time display behind him continued to count the hours, minutes and seconds. "It's a _sport_ , too?" His mouth dropped open in disbelief.

"It is." Spock reached for the box of crunchies and removed a handful. "It may surprise you to learn that a considerable amount of physical and mental training goes into the development of elite silence athletes." He ate the snacks one by one, none of them making a sound.

"Oh, I have no doubt there's a _mental_ component." McCoy rubbed his eyes, groaning. "Sometimes I think _I'm_ the one living in a horror movie…"


	10. Red Alert!

McCoy inched between two security officers on either side of the shuttle ramp, one hand grasping a small rucksack. "Excuse me, coming through," he rasped, a little out of breath from the dash to Shuttlebay.

"Got here just in time, Doctor. Not a minute to spare." One of the officers, a blonde woman with close cropped curls, nodded at his bag. "I thought this was a day trip. Planning a longer stay?"

"On New Vulcan?" McCoy laughed. "Not if I can help it. A little too warm for these old bones down there. I'm only goin' 'cause I made a promise-" He stopped mid-sentence as the sound of a bell chimed from inside his bag. Both officers eyed him curiously. "Eh, it's nothing. Just one of my devices I forgot to turn off," he explained. He ducked his head to avoid the amusement he felt inside from showing on his face and continued up the ramp and into the craft.

Inside, several crewmembers from the _Enterprise_ were seated, engaging their friends in muted conversation. A short ensign stood on his chair, trying to close a panel that had popped open above his head with little success. "There's a trick to that, Buyol. Allow me." McCoy set down his bag, gently elbowed him out of the way and slid the panel a quarter of an inch to the left before pushing it shut with a click. "Got it." He backed up into the aisle, reaching for his bag again.

"Thanks." Buyol hopped down from the chair and settled into it properly. "I'll have to remember that next time." He didn't seem embarrassed, only relieved.

McCoy nodded and continued toward the front of the shuttle, just shy of the cockpit. Spying a familiar head of tousled brown hair and the ebony one next to it, he allowed himself a goofy grin until he stood next to his captain and first officer.

Kirk looked up from the PADD on his lap. "Bones. I was just about to comm you. Thought maybe you'd changed your mind about coming." He glanced around the shuttle. "Don't you have doctor friends to sit with or something?"

"Doctor friends?" McCoy sat down in between Kirk and Spock. "What is this, a shuttle or the school lunchroom?"

"Oh, that reminds me." Kirk reached into a bag by his feet and pulled out an apple. "Little bit of both." He took a big bite out of the fruit, then offered it to McCoy. "Want some-"

"-germs?" McCoy finished. "Nah, I'll take my chances on the native delicacies." He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, letting the ambient sounds of the craft and its occupants soothe him. A transporter would have been quicker, but they had been taken offline today for regular maintenance. New Vulcan was about two hours away from their current location at standard non-emergency shuttle speed; just long enough for what McCoy had in mind.

An announcement sounded over the shuttle's intercom system, informing passengers that they were now departing. McCoy felt the rumble of the shuttle's liftoff under his feet, and watched out the window as they exited the bay. Spock was leaning forward, his gaze transfixed on what appeared to be a black Rubik's cube as he tried to "solve" it. "I guess it would be foolish to ask you what that is when I already have a pretty good idea."

Spock blinked. "Indeed." He dropped the block in his lap and reached for a PADD. Tapping the screen, he began to read to himself from the blankness. "Would you like to borrow my silence cube, Doctor?"

"Thanks, but no thanks. I already brought a toy of my own." McCoy reached into his bag and pulled out a small black box with a red button on top.

"It is not a toy, Doctor." Spock turned his attention back to the PADD, lost in whatever he could see on the screen.

McCoy pressed the button. A loud _WHOOSH!_ echoed out of its speaker.

Spock's lips pursed, but he said nothing.

McCoy pressed the button again. _DING-A-LING-A LING!_

Spock frowned.

 _MOOOO!_

His left ear twitched.

 _GRRRRRRR!_

His left eyebrow arched.

McCoy covered his mouth with one hand to keep from laughing. "Something the matter?"

"No," Spock lied, annoyance evident in his voice. He stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the cacophony, his reading material forgotten. Little white lines surrounded his mouth.

McCoy hit the button with his index finger at regular intervals. _PHWEET! B-B-B-B-B-B! BZZZZZZZZZZ! CREEEEEEAK!_ With every sound, the Vulcan's discomfort became more apparent. _ZOOOOM! RUFF-RUFF!_ By now, the noise had attracted the attention of several other passengers, who seemed not to know where the sounds were coming from. They looked back and forth at each other, under chairs, and at the displays on the walls. _GEEEEERP! WOOT-WOOT! ZCCHHHHH! THUNK! SHICKA-SHICKA-SHICKA! HOOOONNNNNK!_

"What is that thing?" Kirk reached for the box with both hands.

McCoy held it just out of the captain's reach. "A noise box." _BLARP!_ "I downloaded sounds from the ship's acoustics database into it." _PIKKA-PIKKA-WOOOOOO!_ "Every time I press the button, it makes a random noise." _RATTLE-RATTLE!_ "Like so." The red alert siren began blaring from the speaker, making McCoy fumble with the box. He flailed his hands around, trying to get a grip on it, but it slipped out of his grasp and skittered under the seats.

All around the shuttle, crewmen snapped to attention. Some remained in their seats, looking out the window for the cause of the alert, while others headed to check the shuttle's systems.

"What's going on?" Kirk yelled, hands over his ears as he walked towards the cockpit.

"Not sure, Captain," Sulu shouted back. "Everything here checks out. Nothing on visual, nothing on sensors."

Kirk frowned. He glanced toward the back of the shuttle, then turned back to McCoy, realization slowly dawning. "Is that one of your sound effects?" he shouted, still covering his ears.

"Maybe," McCoy shrugged, a sheepish look on his face.

"Why would you include the _red alert alarm_?!"

"I don't know! I _didn't!_ Not on _purpose_!"

"Turn it _off_!"

"I lost it!"

" _Find_ it and shut it off!"

McCoy dropped to the ground and began searching under chairs. He swept one arm under the seats, brushing against the ankles of some of the passengers in the process. After an agonizing two minutes, he finally located the noise box three rows back. Pulling it out, he winced as the sound came closer to his face."The button's jammed!" He tried to wiggle it loose, but to no avail.

"Well, _un-jam_ it then!" Kirk hollered.

"I'm _trying_!" McCoy barked back.

"Try _harder_!"

"You know," McCoy added, smacking the button with the palm of his hand repeatedly, "I don't remember the _Enterprise_ red alert being this annoying."

Kirk gritted his teeth. "Speaking of _annoying_ -"

"Gentlemen!" Spock appeared next to McCoy, his brows lowered. "Allow me." He held out one hand. "Doctor, the device."

"Gladly." McCoy handed the box to Spock and covered his ears. "What do you plan to-"

The Vulcan set McCoy's device on the seat and picked up a hammer. Raising the tool above his head, he slammed it down on the box with a loud _SMASH!_ Bits of metal flew in all directions, hitting nearby personnel, as the siren sound cut off abruptly. An awkward silence followed.

McCoy winced, opening one eye. "I made that myself…"

"It's all right, people. False alarm," Kirk assured everyone, clapping a sciences crewman on the back, then nodding at a command division officer with a weak smile. Crewmen who had frozen in one position when Spock destroyed the device settled back into their seats slowly, still on edge from the previous clamor. A few resumed conversations with their seatmates, the volume of their speech decreasing as their hearing recovered. A mixture of surprise and relief was etched onto their faces.

Kirk groaned and rubbed the back of his neck, plopping down next to McCoy and glowering at him.

Spock remained standing in the aisle, one hand still clutching the hammer. A peculiar expression crossed his features. "I found that…oddly…satisfying."

McCoy frowned. "I'll take that," he said, reaching for the hammer and prying Spock's fingers off the handle. "Don't want you getting any ideas." He put one hand on top of his head, shoving the hammer under his seat with the other. "Sorry, Jim."

Kirk shook his head. "Just don't _ever_ do that again, okay? These people are trained to respond to real emergencies, and - it's like a little kid pulling the fire alarm." His lips twitched when he said this, as though it had brought back a memory he'd like to forget. Sighing, the captain crossed his arms over his chest. "Why _did_ you make that heart attack in a box, anyway?" he asked, bending over and rummaging in his bag. He pulled out a small packet.

Spock moved in front of them and sat down in his own chair. "I believe the sole purpose of that "noise box" was to cause me annoyance. Perhaps your idea of revenge for my attempts to introduce you to _Contemplative Silence?_ " When McCoy said nothing, Spock continued. "Believe it or not, Doctor, my interest in _Contemplative Silence_ is not merely a function of how much aggravation it causes you."

"Pretty sure that's Vulcan for, ' _don't flatter yourself_ ''," Kirk added, popping a raisin into his mouth.

"Hey, if I want a translator, I'll ask Uhura." McCoy folded his arms behind his head. "Right now, I just want to forget about the whole thing." He turned his head and glanced out the window at the stars passing by. "You know, you never did say where we were going when we got there."

"I have passes to a live taping of a program." Spock closed his eyes. "But before I tell you _which_ program, I believe it would be prudent to ask _you_ to give _me_ the hammer."

McCoy covered his face with both hands, groaning. "Be my guest."


	11. The Play's Nothing

The low hum of voices greeted McCoy's ears as he entered the assembly hall. He glanced at a piece of actual paper affixed to the wall near the door. " _Tryouts today. (Play to be announced)"_ was written in blocky blue script.

Leaning his back against the wall, he watched the crew members, who were clustered in small groups all across the room. Nervous laughter echoed on his left from a young woman who clutched a PADD in her hands, while the two male officers standing next to her were nodding and assuring her. One put a hand on her shoulder, and she closed her eyes, relaxing.

To his right, a young officer finished singing a lively tune, much to the delight of his friends, who applauded profusely. He bowed with a flourish, dipping low to the ground, only to be bopped on the head by one of his "admirers", who was brandishing a rolled-up paper that appeared to be another poster. The singer responded to their boisterous laughter with a mock scowl. He smirked as McCoy, but the doctor looked away.

Some crewmen sat on the floor, studying PADDs and making notes, while others looked as though they were going to fall asleep. McCoy felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around. "Hey, Chekov."

"Doctor. I thought it vas you." The navigator took a sip from his bottle of ice water and smiled. "Are you going to read for one of the roles?"

McCoy held up his hands palms out. "Oh, no, I'm not here lookin' to nab a part. Just watchin', is all."

"Too bad. You'd be a shoo-in." His features drooped. "Myself, I'm not so sure. Last time, I wound up being an understudy to an understudy." His cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

McCoy put a hand on Chekov's shoulder and squeezed. "Don't be so negative, kid. I'm sure there's a role out there with your name all over it."

"Think so?" Chekov crossed his arms.

"I know so." McCoy pointed over his shoulder at the sign. "Hey, you heard anything about what play they're doin'?"

"No, sorry." Chekov shook his head. "Personally, I'm hoping it's _Chess_ ," he replied, smiling again.

McCoy chuckled. "Well, I guess it's too early in the year for _The Nutcracker_." He cast his gaze towards the stage at the front of the room as the curtain swished open. Nyota Uhura stepped through, looking out over the crowds. She worried her lip with her front teeth. Some of the officers noticed her, and nudged their friends, who stopped talking and looked up at the stage, expressions anxious.

Seeing their agitation, she shook her head. "Sorry, everybody. Auditions won't be for a few minutes." Disappointment echoed through the crowd, but they quickly recovered and returned to their earlier conversations. Chekov nodded at the doctor, then headed over to a group of crewmembers that were huddled together watching something on a PADD screen.

Uhura stepped down off the stage and crossed the room, stopping to speak with some of the would-be performers.

"Uhura." McCoy waved a hand in the air.

She slowly walked towards him, studying his face. "Uh oh." Uhura frowned. "Did I miss an appointment or something?"

McCoy sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Relax. You're good. 'Sides, even if'n you _did_ , I've got better things to do than chase you down myself. And I could always ring ya," he added, tugging on his earlobe. "I'm here for another reason." He tilted his chin at the stage.

"Tryouts?" She smiled. "Watching or auditioning?"

"Watching. I'm a doctor, not-"

"-not an actor," she finished, holding one hand up in front of his face. "I know, I know." She thought for a moment. "What about behind the scenes? You could paint the scenery, or work with the stage crew, or-"

"Well, I can't guarantee anything. You know I've got a busy schedule. And I can't postpone a surgical procedure just to paint yellow daisies on a canvas." McCoy chuckled, looking down at his watch. "But I had a few moments left over on my lunch break, so I thought I'd come on down here and watch a bunch of grown men and women make fools of themselves."

Uhura poked him in the arm. "Be nice." She waved her hand at the gathered crew. "Look how excited everybody is. These productions are a real morale booster. And some of them are actually really good." She pointed at a stocky officer in the corner of the room. "Remember Hendorff, what a great Maujer he made when we did Hinnes' _Frevid in Pallion_ last winter?"

"Yep. But as I recall, that role was written for an old man, and it only had three lines."

"So? He was onstage for most of the show, and I thought he played the role with feeling."

"I'll give you that." McCoy winked. "Still wish I'd brought a gong, though." She raised her hand to poke him again, but he blocked her attack, and she lowered her hand. He snuck another glance at his watch. "Say, shouldn't ya be getting started yet? It's almost a quarter of the way through this shift's lunch hour."

"Huh? Oh, no. I'm not judging the auditions." She looked down at her hands. "I was just bringing Spock some lunch. And waiting my turn," she added, grinning. "He told me not to expect a good part just because he and I…" She waved one hand dismissively. "I don't know, he's kind of paranoid about avoiding the appearance of favoritism. Since we work in different departments, it's not that big an issue anymore, but-"

"Hold on a minute," McCoy interrupted. "Spock told'ja not to expect…is he-" He stopped talking abruptly as the curtains opened again, and Spock stepped out onto the stage, garnering the attention of the waiting auditioners. " _Spock_ is judging the auditions?!" He watched as Spock summoned the young singer to the stage. With an impish wink at his buddies, he headed behind the curtain with the Vulcan.

Uhura gave a lopsided smile. "Yeah. Surprised me, too. Since Burnside transferred to Deep Space Station H-19 six months ago, nobody else seemed interested in taking the reins. Until now, that is."

"Didn't think he had _blood_ in his veins, let alone the theater in his blood." McCoy rubbed his eyes. "Where are they going anyway?"

"Backstage. The auditions are private." She shrugged. "Don't ask me why. Maybe he thought it would help the performers be less self-conscious."

"They're gonna have to get used to it sometime," McCoy scoffed. "Listen, if there's nothing to see, I'm going back to sickbay." He turned around and headed for the exit. "If'n I wanted to see a bunch of people stand around and yap, I'd-"

"Hey, Doc!" He turned his head to see the singing officer peering through the curtain. "Spock wants to talk to ya!"

"What about?"

"I don't know." The officer shrugged, gripping the curtain with one hand. "He just said to call you, Doc." With a swish of fabric, he was gone again.

"Tell him I'm coming." McCoy turned to the communications officer. "If you'll excuse me, Uhura." He moved through the crowd and strode up onto the stage, ducking behind the curtains.

The backstage area was darkened, and he nearly tripped over a coil of rope. "Spock? Turn the lights on. I can't see a fool thing." He felt around with his hands until he touched a computer panel and pressed the switch. Illumination filled the area surrounding him, causing him to squint. "What is this, the bat cave?"

"Back here, Doctor."

McCoy followed the sound to the corner of the room. Spock sat at a table which was split evenly down the middle between clutter and order. "Well, well, if it isn't the Phantom of the Opera." The messy side of the table was piled high with an assortment of props and costumes, while the neat side, Spock's side, held a lunch tray. McCoy smiled at the half-eaten bowl of macaroni and cheese, obviously Uhura's idea. A glass of frothy orange liquid sat next to it, along with a smaller bowl of vanilla pudding topped with cherry syrup. "Now, what was it you wanted to-"

Spock reached for a stylus with one hand and began making notes on a tablet. "I will be with you shortly."

"But I-"

Spock held up one hand. "Please, Doctor. I need quiet to concentrate."

"All right." McCoy clasped his hands behind his back, eyes closed. He stood like that for several moments, occasionally glancing up at the Vulcan. Spock continued making notes on his tablet, studying McCoy as he did so. "What are you working on?" No answer.

Finally, Spock set down his stylus and tented his fingers. "Excellent."

"Huh?" McCoy walked over to Spock's side and tried to read what he had written, but it was all in Vulcan. "I'm a little confused. What just happened?" He leaned on the table.

"Congratulations, Doctor." Spock extended one hand towards McCoy. "Your audition was successful."

"What audition? I was told you wanted to speak to me."

Spock frowned. "Mr. Riley informed _me_ that you wanted to audition for the production, but that your work schedule would not permit you to do so later this afternoon. Apparently, he was misinformed." He raised an eyebrow and looked over his shoulder to a door that Riley had presumably exited through before returning his attention to McCoy. "I take it then, that you do not wish to participate after all?"

McCoy held his hands apart as though he was wringing someone's neck. "When I get my hands on that scamp-" He sighed. "I know Jim's never gonna let me hear the end of this, but…as long as I'm here…why not?" He stretched his arms upward in the air. "I don't have anything prepared, but-wait. You said I already _got_ the part. Haven't done nothin' yet."

"On the contrary, Doctor. Your performance was exemplary." Spock stood up from his chair and walked around McCoy, studying him. "I could see you as Rinak the warrior, bold and triumphant. Or perhaps Yuthi-mir-akal, the wandering scholar."

"Oh, is this a Vulcan play?" McCoy touched the tips of his ears. "Can you just see me with pointed ears? I could even do my own make-up," he chuckled. "Must be an awful lot of parts in the show if you can just _stand_ there and ace the audition."

Spock reached into a box of memory tapes and handed McCoy two of them. "Why don't you read through the script and learn the songs now? That will make your task easier when we begin rehearsals."

"Songs?" McCoy accepted the tapes. "I hafta sing, too? You might change your mind about giving me a good part when you've heard my voice." He pointed to his chest with one thumb. "I may not sound like a rusty gate, but I'm not exactly an Irish tenor, either."

"Trust me, you will not have to concern yourself with that." Spock nodded at the tapes. "You may want to be seated before you read the title, however."

McCoy pulled out a chair from the table. "I don't know why you'd-" He looked at the label on the tape as he sat down. " _Contemplative Silence: The Musical_." He dropped into the chair limply, one hand fanning the tapes. McCoy glared at Spock. "The musical."

"Yes."

McCoy tossed the tapes onto the desk and leaned forward. "Funny thing about a musical is…ya need _music_. You know, sound. That thing you're so all-fired anxious to eliminate." He flopped backwards in his chair. "So tell me, what? Do they all stand around on stage in the darkness, unmoving, for two hours? Who in their right mind would waste two hours of their lives staring at a bunch of _nobodies_ doing _nothing_ in the _noiseless nothingness_?"

Spock shook his head. "Hardly. There are several dance numbers as well." Before McCoy could open his mouth to protest, Spock continued, his brow furrowing. "Perhaps it would be best if you set aside your thespian ambitions until the next production."

McCoy rubbed his forehead with one hand. "That'll be easy, seein' as how I didn't have none to begin with." His eyes twinkled. "How 'bout I work in scenery, instead?" A wry smile curved his lip. "Wouldn't be that hard. Way I figure it, all I hafta do is throw a big bucket of black paint on a piece of canvas." At the downturn of Spock's brows, he added, "Be sure an' save a ticket for me, too. I could use a good, long nap."

Spock studied McCoy. "For someone who has an appreciation of historical events, I expected you would be more interested in this particular musical."

McCoy frowned. "Why?"

Spock tented his finger together again. "It is based on a true story."

McCoy's chair toppled underneath him, sending him crashing to the floor.


	12. BYOS (Bring Your Own Silence)

Leonard McCoy adjusted the position of the slim black notebook on his right thigh and jotted down a few more thoughts, his pen moving haltingly along the blue line. A sudden cramp in his leg caused his pen hand to jump, skittering across the page until it jabbed him. "Ow." He dropped the pen on the ground and rubbed his thigh. "Jim. Remind me why this was a good idea, again?"

Jim Kirk, crouching by a pile of dry twigs, paused in the middle of rubbing two sticks together. "Camping wasn't my idea, Bones." He dropped the sticks and stood, swiping dirt off of his pants. " _You're_ the country boy, after all." Kirk thumbed an imaginary pair of suspenders, snapping them, and winked.

"Cut that out. I wasn't talking about the trip," McCoy continued, slipping the notebook and pen into his rucksack. "Why'd you have to insist on the whole 'no devices' thing, anyway? I mean, I get that you don't wanna be bothered while we're on vacation and all, but come on. One little tablet computer isn't going to hurt any."

Kirk shook his head. "Sorry. 'No devices' means _no_ devices, Bones. Out here-" he breathed in and out, a smile settling on his features- "nothing but us, fresh air, and the clear blue sky." He opened up a plastic package and poured out a handful of trail mix, swalowing it in one gulp.

"And disease-carrying bugs, bone-chilling weather, grizzly bears, escaped criminals, moonshiners-"

"Chill out. What century are you living in, anyway?" Kirk chuckled. "I don't want to be so easy to locate. This is our shore leave, and I'd like us to _enjoy_ it without being monitored by Starfleet every second."

"You think we're _not_ being watched?" McCoy threw his hands up in the air. "There are several tracking satellites in Earth's orbit that can trace our positions to within a few millimeters if an eager sensor technician is so inclined." He folded his arms over his chest. "Not to mention, oh yeah, the _Enterprise_. You know, that big starship we're assigned to?"

"Scotty's got better things to do than beam us back aboard in the middle of engine test maneuvers." Kirk shuffled through the dirt and put a hand on McCoy's shoulder. "I thought you liked the raw, unspoiled wilderness."

"I do," McCoy huffed. "I just have the feeling I'm going to come out of this excursion more raw than unspoiled, that's all." He kicked a stone with the toe of his hiking boot. "'Spose I should be glad you let us bring camping gear instead of making us build a lean-to out of sticks and leaves."

Kirk swatted a mosquito that landed on his cheek. "Did you miss the part where I said I wanted to _enjoy_ the trip? But if I let you bring a PADD along, you'd probably spend all your time reading medical journals, or catching up on work." He walked over towards the tent and unzipped the entryway, crawling inside.

"Like you wouldn't try to catch up on personnel transfers, or technical manuals, or comic books?" McCoy plopped down next to the campfire. "Face it, Jim, we're workaholics. You, me, and Spock." He picked up the sticks and began to rub them against each other rapidly. "If it wasn't for the occasional game of chess and that infernal contemplative silence of his, I don't think he'd ever leave the lab for longer than the night shift unless you dragged him on an away team." He leaned forward and blew gently on the stick pile, watching a thin curl of smoke drift upward. "How'd you ever talk him into this?"

The tent rustled. "Told him it was a psychological experiment." Kirk backed out of the tent, a lighter in one hand, and sat up on his haunches. "Stick three people out in the middle of nowhere, armed with only their wits and the bare essentials," He stood up and walked over to the fire, sitting down on a hollow log. "-then see how long they can keep from killing each other." He grinned and held out the lighter. "This oughta-" A frown. "You did that in seconds. I've been fooling with it for five minutes."

McCoy tossed a couple of sticks on top of the fire, a pleased expression on his face. "This ain't my first rodeo. Me and my daddy used to go camping when I was knee high to Keenser." He stretched out both hands toward the flames. "You didn't think we just locked ourselves in an examining room and played with the anatomical imagers every weekend, did you?"

Kirk stood up and turned back to the tent. "Anything else I should know about you?" he asked, tossing the lighter into his pack. He walked to the edge of the camp and peered into the forest.

"Remind me to tell you about the summer I spent cataloguing bone fragments on Sermian Beta X," McCoy offered. "And the time I got into a fight with a Denobulan mixed martial arts champion over a beautiful-" He paused. "Jim, what is it?"

Kirk frowned into the distance. "Spock's been gone for an hour now. I sent him up the ridge to find some more firewood. What's keeping him?"

McCoy scratched the back of his neck. "Who knows? Maybe he discovered a new species of fern. Told ya we should've brought a tricorder."

Kirk shivered as the wind ruffled his hair. "It's getting colder." He glanced up. "Looks like a storm's coming." Dark clouds swept in with the wind, casting a shadow over the forest.

"Want to bail out?"

"Not a chance."

McCoy shrugged. "Can't blame me for-"

"Jim. Leonard." Spock appeared from behind a large redwood tree, clutching an armful of firewood. A smudge of dirt streaked down his right cheek. "Inclement weather approaches. I recommend we extinguish the fire and seek shelter."

"That's Spock for you. No pleasantries, no apologies, just the weather report and marching orders." McCoy took the firewood from the Vulcan and shoved it inside the tent. "Where have you been all this time, anyway? Plucking daisies and playing 'she loves me, she loves me not'?"

A faint tinge of green colored Spock's cheeks. "I can assure you I was not attempting to divine Nyota's affections by defoliating the local flora." He frowned. "Such an exercise has no basis in science whatsoever."

"Sorry I asked." McCoy flipped open the tent flap and crawled inside.

"That's too subtle for Spock," Kirk agreed, following after him. "He'd probably just ask her, point-blank. Not that he needs to. Everybody on the ship knows she thinks he hung the moon."

Just as Spock opened his mouth to protest the last statement, something flat and hard slipped out from under his shirt and onto the tent floor. He reached for it, but McCoy grabbed the object first, flipping it around. "A PADD?" He snorted. "Nice hiding place."

"I knew I should have searched you guys before we left the ship." Kirk sighed and shook his head, rubbing his brow. "Spock, we agreed. No devices."

Spock snatched the tablet from McCoy. "I am not going to insult your intelligence by questioning how this device came to be among my personal effects." He looked down at the floor. "I brought it along so I could…see to certain matters." Clutching the PADD to his chest, he sat down on the end of his sleeping bag.

McCoy leaned against the tent's wall, chuckling. "I hate to break it to you, Spock, but they don't put paper magazines in the privy to give folks something to _read_."

Kirk elbowed McCoy in the shoulder, then extended a hand towards his friend, gazing firmly. "The PADD, Spock."

Spock looked back and forth between the two men, then slowly extended the device towards Kirk, who took it and shoved it inside his bag. "Good," Kirk said, expression lightening. He unzipped his sleeping bag and climbed in. "Let's all get a good night's sleep. Storm oughta blow over by morning. A quick breakfast, and then I'll show you guys that waterfall I've been telling you about?"

"The one you plan on pushing us over?"

"Good night, Bones." Kirk closed his eyes and turned on his side as Spock slid into his own sleeping bag. Within moments, both men were breathing evenly, even as the rain began to pelt their tent. McCoy removed an energy drink from his bag and opened it, taking a swig, replacing the bottle. As he crawled towards his own sleeping bag, he spied Spock's PADD poking out from Kirk's rucksack. Backing up, he reached for the device and unzipped his sleeping bag, shoving the PADD down as far as it would go, then slid in after it.

* * *

McCoy woke up with a start as thunder crashed overhead. "Not _now_ ," he muttered under his breath, squirming. "Of all the times to have to…" Letting out a long sigh, he got up on his knees and crawled towards the front of the tent, unzipping the flap.

Lightning arced across the sky in the distance. Cool wind and raindrops bathed his face. Straightening up, McCoy shuffled awkwardly in the direction of the latrine they'd dug earlier. Startled by a thunderclap, his boot slipped in the mud and he tried to regain his balance, but his arms were pinned against his sides. "What the-" He looked down. Both feet poked out from the bottom of his sleeping bag, which he still wore. Grabbing the inner sides of the bag, he struggled with it, managing to slip the Starfleet-issue bag over his head and tossing it to the ground in a heap. "Now how in tarnation did that happen?" he wondered aloud, breathing heavily from the exertion. Rain streamed down his face and pooled in the folds of his plaid shirt.

Another lightning flash illuminated the clearing ahead of him. A figure wearing a rain slicker was seated on one of the logs surrounding what had been their fire pit, its head bent over something it held in its hands. Rain flooded down from the sky, yet the figure seemed not in the least perturbed by the inclement weather. Glancing back at his sleeping bag, McCoy shut his eyes. "Heaven help me, if that's who I _think_ it is…"

Stomping over to the log, McCoy stopped in front of the figure. "I thought you were asleep, Spock." No answer. He leaned down and shook Spock's shoulder. "Spock?"

"I was not sleeping. I was resting my eyes," the Vulcan corrected, removing a pair of headphones. "If you wished to conceal the location of my PADD, you should have waited an hour or so." Thunder rumbled.

"You're crazy, you know that?" McCoy shouted over the sound. "It's the middle of the night and you're sitting outside in the dark while all hell's breaking loose, compiling a report on the effects of X-rays on Altairian nematodes, organizing the seating chart for the sciences department banquet, compiling your own theory as to how the universe will end, or who knows what else." He brushed back his limp, wet hair. "Now come inside before you catch your death of cold." McCoy shook his head. "I told Jim you were a workaholic, but this takes the cake."

Spock thought for a moment, then adjusted his hood. "I will return to the tent momentarily. It was stifling, and I required fresh air." He put on his earphones and turned back to the PADD, gaze intent. "Among other things," he muttered under his breath.

McCoy walked around the log until he was standing behind Spock. "Well, unless it's an urgent directive from the head of Starfleet himself, I don't see why you can't just-" His voice trailed off as he spied the screen of the PADD. "I should have _known_." A blank screen glowed faintly in the shadows. A couple of droplets of water dribbled down the sides of the device.

McCoy reached for Spock's headphones, pulling one side away from his head. Spock jerked sideways. "Do you mind, Doctor?" He sighed. "I find the clamor of the storm unsettling."

"You find _everything_ but silence unsettling." Pivoting around, McCoy stomped towards the tent. "Jim! Get out here and see what-whoa!" He jumped as the thunder boomed and a gust of wind blew him forward. Blindly, he stepped on his discarded sleeping bag, now slick with muddy rainwater, and slipped, arms flailing. McCoy crashed into the side of the tent headfirst, unraveling the rope from the tent peg as he tripped over it. He landed on top of Kirk, who let out a muffled yell as the tent collapsed on top of him.

After a couple of seconds, McCoy rolled over onto one side into a puddle of mud. "Jim!"

The tent bulged in several places as Kirk pushed against the sides with his hands and feet repeatedly, finally locating and poking his head out of the opening flap. "Ow!" He squinted his eyes shut as a gust of wind lashed his face with rain. "What the heck, Bones?!" Kirk wriggled out of the tent and staggered to his feet, grabbing at the tent rope. "Help me get it set up and tied down again." He passed the rope to McCoy and knelt down in the mud, flexing a support post in an attempt to bend it into place. "Spock!" Kirk yelled over his shoulder. "Grab the other rope!" He stuck his hand through the opening, fishing around for something.

"He can't hear you, Jim! That's what I was trying to tell you!" McCoy jammed his peg deep into the mud and wrapped the rope around it, double-knotting it. "That PADD he brought along? He's over by the fire pit, watching _Contemplative Silence_!"

"What?!" Kirk tore off a strip of repair tape with his teeth and wrapped it around a weak spot on the support post. " _That's_ why he snuck the PADD down here?"

"Yup." McCoy let out a puff of breath.

"In this weather?" Lightning illuminated Kirk's look of utter disbelief. "That's crazy!"

"I know, right? Neither sleet, nor snow, nor hail, nor lightning bolts…" McCoy rolled up his damaged sleeping bag and stuffed it through the opening. "After you drifted off, I hid the device in my bag, but he sliced it open and took the PADD back. He's probably been outside for hours now!"

"Oh, _man_ …" Kirk flopped backwards into the mud and covered his face with both hands, groaning. "I'm starting to see what you mean about him…"


	13. The Silent Treatment

"Mind if we join you, Doctor?"

McCoy looked up from his turkey sandwich and eyed the blonde who stood by his mess hall table, balancing a lunch tray on one hip. A small salad, lightly dressed, was accompanied by a side of French fries and a frothy green drink with little dark specks in it. "We?" He glanced to her left, then her right. "Need a chaperone for your lunch date with the invisible man?" he quipped.

"What?" Carol turned and swept her gaze across the lunch room. As she stepped backward, she bumped into Uhura gently. "Nyota. Where did you go? You were right behind me."

"I just thought-" Uhura sighed. "Oh, never mind." Without waiting for McCoy's answer, she slid into the seat next to him and set down her tray, then picked up the spoon and dipped it into her soup. At a nod from McCoy, Carol shrugged and sat down across from them, taking a sip of her drink.

Leaning towards Carol, McCoy cupped one hand to his face and whispered, "What's with her?"

Marcus set down her glass. "Spock's been a little busy lately. She told me she knows that he has a lot of duties as first officer, not to mention his scientific pursuits. Still…" she trailed off, running her finger around the rim of the glass, "She was kind of hoping he'd show up for their usual lunch date anyway."

McCoy looked over at his seatmate. Uhura was still stirring the soup, but had yet to consume any of it. "Maybe if ya blow on it, it'll cool faster," he suggested, taking another bite of his sandwich.

"Hmm?" She glanced up at him. "Oh, no. It isn't that…I mean-" She took a mouthful of soup and wiped her mouth with a napkin. "It's silly, really. It's not like I'm his _only_ friend. He's got Jim, and you, and I don't resent the time _you_ spend together." Brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, she leaned on one elbow. "I should be glad, really, that he's making new friends, especially Vulcan ones. He's told me how difficult it was for him to try to fit in with his peers as a child." Her smile lifted slightly until it finally met her eyes. "And from what Spock tells me about him, he's quite brilliant, really. A xenobotanist who enlisted with Starfleet two years ago, and is currently working towards officer status. They're both big fans of _Contemplative Silence_ , too."

"Great. Just what we need around here. More of _that_ little diversion." McCoy frowned mid-chew. "Xenobotanist, you say?" He reached for the tablet next to his tray and tapped the screen, bringing up the personnel database. Typing the field into the search bar, he frowned as the Vulcan's image appeared on the screen.

"Yeah. He transferred here during our stopover at Starbase 22." Uhura spooned up some more soup. "You probably met him during his transfer physical. What'd you think of him, dare I ask?" she queried dryly.

"You've never met him?" Carol asked her, trailing a fry in her salad dressing. "I haven't spend a lot of time in the arboretum or plant biology labs lately, but surely you would have run into him and Spock once or twice." She popped the fry in her mouth.

"Nope." Uhura shook her head. "I've been meaning to invite him to dinner in our quarters one of these nights, though. Sort of a "welcome-to-the- _Enterprise_ -get-to-know-you" meal. Would you like to come?"

"Sure." Carol leaned forward eagerly, chin resting on one hand. "Hey, want me to bring the dessert? Mum didn't do a lot of cooking, but she had a recipe for pecan-"

"Hold it." McCoy placed a hand on her arm. "Doncha think the company'll be a little, uh, lopsided?"

Carol and Uhura both turned to McCoy. "What do you mean by that?" Uhura asked, brows furrowed slightly.

"Of all of the transfers we received at Starbase 22, there was only one sciences division Vulcan. Crewman first class Veylik." He raised an eyebrow at Carol, whose expression clouded.

"That's right." Uhura finished her soup and pushed it to one side. "However you add it up, it all evens out. Two Vulcans - basically - two Humans. Two women-" She noticed their shared glance. "What is it?"

" _Three_ women, Uhura." McCoy held up three fingers, then slid his tablet over towards her. "Veylik is a she, not a he." The screen showed the image of an elegant Vulcan woman with long dark hair knotted in a bun and wearing sciences blue. "I was attending a meeting on the base the day she came aboard. I had to stay late participating in a conference call with Starfleet Medical. One of the relay stations was experiencing a time delay, so everything took twice as long to-" He studied the woman's face, which had gone ashen. "Uhura? You all right?"

Uhura's hands began to shake. "He…I just assumed, I guess, that…" Her lips pressed tightly together, and she looked up from the screen. Fire smoldered in her eyes. "Why didn't he tell me?"

"I might be able to hazard a guess," McCoy chuckled, choking off his laugh as she glared at him.

Uhura turned her gaze on Carol. "Why didn't _you_ tell me? You just let me go on and on about how great it is that Spock made a Vulcan friend, and they have so much in common, and-" She threw her hands up in the air.

Carol shook her head. "I didn't know, honest I didn't."

"But you recognized her name!"

"Yes, because we spoke briefly yesterday in the ship's library." Carol insisted. "It was after my shift, and neither of us were wearing our division colors. She asked me whether I'd seen Ensign Hamilton because she had a question for him about switching her assigned quarters for another. I told her I hadn't, and we parted. I didn't know she was new to the ship. I've been here for a while and I _still_ haven't met everybody." She sighed. "Really, I don't think you need to worry. She's probably just asking Spock for advice, that's all."

"Yeah, she's right," McCoy reached for his glass of milk. "Like how to fend off our captain-" Carol's mouth twisted "-or tips on perfecting her silence technique." He covered his mouth as a hiccup escaped, then glanced back and forth at the two women. Uhura was clenching her napkin in both hands, knuckles white, mouth set in a grim line, while Carol bored holes in the doctor's face with her eyes. "Did I say something wrong?"

Carol laughed humorlessly. "Not at all. Whatever gave you that idea?" Shoving aside her tray, she got up from her seat and walked away from the table, back stiff.

McCoy watched her until she disappeared into the crowd, then turned his gaze back on Uhura, who had abandoned the mangled napkin and now tapped her manicured fingernails on the tabletop. "They've been spending a lot of time together?"

"Uh-huh. We haven't seen each other for more than a few minutes at a time in the last couple of weeks," she sniffed. A tear dribbled down one cheek. "He doesn't come to bed until 0300, some nights." She reached up to wipe it away. "When I asked him about it, he said that something came up. And I believed him."

"As well you should. Spock doesn't lie. Granted, he didn't tell you the _whole_ truth this time, but-" He paused as Uhura swiveled in her seat, placing one hand on the table for balance.

"So he wants silence, does he? I'll give him silence," she muttered, standing up. "Two can play that game." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Let's see how he likes it for a change."

"What did you have in mind?" McCoy asked, stuffing the last of his sandwich in his mouth and collecting both his empty tray and those the women had left behind.

Uhura gave him a wicked smile. "You'll see."

* * *

For the next week, McCoy made a point of finding excuses to head up to the bridge, ranging from hand-delivering a report on the status of crew immunizations to acting as though Kirk had summoned him. He even volunteered to join an away team when he learned that Spock, Uhura, and Veylik would all be heading to the surface of Grenum III to oversee the transfer of several botanical samples to the ship's arboretum. Aside from the minimum of communication required for the successful completion of her tasks, Uhura remained as quiet as possible. She was pleasant as always to the bridge crew and those she spoke with over the comms, generally civil to the Vulcan woman, and downright monosyllabic to Spock, communicating most of her answers with subtle gestures and minimal eye contact.

As McCoy descended into the command well on the morning of the seventh day with two cups of coffee, a hand stretched out and grabbed him by the elbow, making him slosh a few drops onto the floor. "Can't you wait one second, Jim?" He handed the cup to the captain and raised his own coffee to his lips.

"Thank you, _Yeoman_ McCoy." Kirk laughed as the doctor rolled his eyes. "Seriously, though, this is, what, the twelfth time you've come to the bridge this week? In the words of Admiral Pike, "get a life"."

"He did _not_ say that to you."

"In so many words, no, but that was the gist of it. Best advice I ever got." Kirk leaned forward in the command chair, toasting the late admiral.

McCoy did the same, took a sip, and frowned. "What about all the advice _I_ give you?"

"You mean like 'don't touch that', 'don't do that', 'she's not your type, Jim'. That kind of advice, Bones?"

"Yeah. And by the way, you forgot, 'hold still' and 'don't be such a baby'." McCoy sipped his drink again. "Actually, I came up to see the floor show." When Kirk looked at him askance, McCoy raised his cup towards Uhura, who was intently focusing on her current conversation with one of the ship's departments. "You really haven't noticed Lt. Uhura's rather… _frosty_ demeanor when the hobgoblin's around?"

As if on cue, the turbolift opened, and Spock strode out onto the bridge, making the rounds of the various stations before settling into his own. As he did, Uhura glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, only to look away when he acknowledged her presence, stiffening in her chair. Spock remained standing for a moment, then settled in at his science station.

"Ouch," Kirk muttered. " _Delta Vega_ wasn't that cold. What's gotten into her?"

"Girl trouble." McCoy leaned against the arm of Kirk's chair. "You know that Vulcan xenobotanist we picked up at 22 three weeks ago? Spock's been spending a lot of time with her lately…contemplating silence. He just neglected to tell her his new silence buddy was a female, that's all."

"Really?" Kirk set his cup down on the console to his left. "And she's decided to punish him for it."

"Yup. Now he'll know what it's like to be ignored." McCoy scratched the side of his head. "I've been watching them all week and as far as I know, he hasn't caught on yet."

"Maybe it's about time someone gave him a clue, don't you think? If I know Spock as well as I think I do, he's probably been too busy preparing reports and studying the latest briefings to even realize. He likely just thinks she's preoccupied with work." Kirk shook his head. "He may be a genius, but sometimes you got to hit him over the head with a two by four to get through to him." He thought for a moment. "Speaking of busy, have you seen Carol around lately? I've been trying to get a hold of her, but every time I ring her up, she doesn't answer."

McCoy swallowed, then shrugged casually. "I think she's working on a science paper for the _Federation Journal of Applied Physics._ Something about magnetic attraction."

"Oh." The captain walked over to the science station and tapped Spock on the shoulder. "Mr. Spock? A word?"

Spock turned. "Captain." He followed Kirk towards the chair. "Doctor."

"Spock." McCoy folded his hands together and drew his teeth over his lower lip.

"What is it?" Spock stood at attention. "I was analyzing the findings astrophysics has amassed on this system. Some of the radiation readings-"

"This isn't about work, Spock. It's about _her_." Kirk angled his head toward Uhura's back. "You know, your girlfriend?"

"You wish to discuss Nyota?" Spock's brow furrowed and he turned to McCoy, puzzled. "Is there something the matter with her, Doctor?"

"Mm. Yes and no." McCoy put a hand on Spock's shoulder. "Nothing life-threatening, mind you…"

"Spock. Have you noticed her… _odd_ behavior lately?" Kirk began tentatively.

"Hmm. Not particularly. We have hardly spoken in the last week beyond work-related matters." Spock thought for a moment. "She did seem a little distracted yesterday, however, when I told her that I would be late for dinner. Crewman Veylik wished to show me the silence robe she had T'Paia autograph at the competitive silence tournament on Shammin VI." He glanced towards the viewscreen. "Did you know that she competes in the amateurs? She finished 17th overall in the women's division, out of 134 competitors. It was only her seventh time competing. A most impressive finish." His voice held a note of admiration. "Her uncle Akal is a fifth order master, and her grandmother T'San once held the elder record for endurance, so she comes by her talent quite naturally. She-"

"Spock." McCoy held up one hand. "What Jim means to say is that, well, Uhura's a little upset that you've been spending all this time with an attractive Vulcan lady instead of her. She's feeling kind of left out."

"So if she hasn't been speaking to you a lot-" Kirk added.

"-or givin' you the brush-off altogether," McCoy continued, " it's just because she thinks you two might be making beautiful silence together, if ya get my drift." He puckered his lips together.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Ah. Indeed, I do. Thank you, doctor." He stepped back, turned around, and walked over to Uhura's station, leaning over her until she removed her earpiece and looked up at him, mouth pressed closed. "Nyota," he began. "I believe there has been a misunderstanding."

"Has there?" she asked cooly, gaze shifting back to her screen, pretending to read the intra-ship transmissions that scrolled across the screen.

"Yes." He clasped his hands behind his back. "I fear there may have been some mistaken assumptions made about the nature of certain actions…of yours."

She spun her chair around slowly to face him, arching one of her eyebrows. " _My_ actions?"

"Yes," Spock agreed. "Over the past week, there has been a distance between us. Originally, I attributed it to the demands of your duties on the _Enterprise_. Leonard and Jim have since assured me that I was in error." Something close to a smile made his lip twitch. "Nyota, I have always admired your willingness to learn about the culture of my people, however difficult it might be to understand their reasons for believing in or engaging in certain behaviors and practices. I should have recognized and nurtured your desire to practice competitive silence instead of continually frustrating your training exercises."

He placed one hand on her shoulder. "From now on, you have my full support; I shall not attempt to engage you in conversation unless you initiate it first." He turned to leave her side, then stopped. "I would recommend, however, that you limit your training time so as not to impede your duties. Perhaps Veylik would be able to give you additional aid."

Holding one finger to his lips, he backed away from her slowly and turned until he was facing Kirk and McCoy again. "Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention, gentlemen. I had no idea."

Kirk's jaw dropped, and he just stared at Spock for a moment, eyes wide and speechless.

McCoy met the captain's gaze with an incredulous one of his own, then raised both hands to his face and shook his head slowly from side to side. He kneaded his forehead. "You're welc-"

 _CRASH!_ All three looked up. A tablet computer clattered to the floor as Uhura jumped up out of her chair and stormed into the hallway, shoving past a confused Sulu, who was just entering the bridge. Shrugging, he headed towards the helm and took his seat.

"She lacks self-control." Spock reached down for the tablet and picked it up, looking in the direction Uhura had exited, a concerned look on his face. "That does not bode well for her future in the sport." He set the tablet on her console and returned to his science station.

Kirk flopped backwards in his chair. "Spock, Spock, Spock…" He rubbed the bridge of his nose, then sat up. "Speaking of predicting the future, I've got a hunch he's gonna be in deep, deep, doo-doo for a long time to come."

McCoy let out a long sigh. "You know what I always say, Jim. There's no fool like a Vulcan fool."


	14. Are You Not Amused?

"Crew quarters." McCoy had just relaxed against the wall of the turbolift when the doors slid open again. Uhura stepped into the lift, earpiece clipped to the collar of her uniform dress. McCoy nodded. "Lieutenant."

Uhura returned the acknowledgement. "Good evening, Doctor. Busy day?" She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Surprisingly, no." McCoy reached for the handrail. "I actually had a chance to catch up on my reading. Medical journals, that is," he added. "Don't want word to get around that I'm lollygagging when I'm not." He rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Got any plans for the evening?"

A sad expression flitted across her face briefly. Her mouth turned up in a smile that didn't meet her eyes. "Not much. I'll probably just have dinner with some of the officers from my department, do a little cardio, update my log, then hit the hay." She ran her teeth over her lower lip. "You?"

"Well…I was actually going to change out of these sad rags-" McCoy ran one hand down the length of his duty uniform "-and head down to New Vulcan with Jim and some of the fellas." He chuckled when her face screwed up in confusion. "Yeah, I know what you're thinking. Why in the name of all that is Starfleet would I want to go _there_ , of all places?"

Uhura shrugged. "No, no, I get it. The food, the music, the sunsets. If you squint really hard, you might be able to pretend you're somewhere less… _insufferably_ logical." She said the last part with equal parts disdain and amusement. "Be sure to check out T'Frena's Café. They make the best _heselah_ you'll ever taste."

"I'll remember that." McCoy tapped the side of his forehead with his index finger as the lift shuddered to a stop. "Actually, we're going to visit a new tourist attraction. It just opened a few weeks ago." He allowed her to exit, then followed after her. "You want to come with us?"

"I don't think so."

"You know, just because you and Spock are on the outs is no reason to avoid Vulcans altogether."

Uhura paused in the middle of the carpeted hallway. "I'm not avoiding Vulcans." She began walking at a faster clip than before. "I'd just rather not surround myself with people who-"

McCoy reached for her arm. "Who remind you of Spock?" Uhura said nothing, her fingers playing with the blue amulet dangling from a chain around her neck. "Look, Nyota. You're going to have to face him sometime. It might as well be now."

"I just-" She blew out a deep breath. "I can't handle it right now, okay, Leonard? He's been avoiding me for a week now, and honestly, I'm glad, because I think if we ran into each other any time soon, he'd be _your_ problem in about five minutes flat, if you get my drift." Uhura crossed her arms over her chest.

McCoy nodded. "Do you have any idea how many times I - heck, _Jim_ , for that matter - has wanted to do the same?" He regarded her sympathetically. "What if I told you that he wasn't coming? Would that change your mind?"

She frowned. "Not coming?"

"Nope." McCoy shoved his hands in his pockets. "Matter of fact, I have it on good authority that he's gonna be holed up in his quarters preparing for the diplomatic meetings with the Aphelans tomorrow afternoon." He watched as she glanced down at the carpet, then met his eyes again. "Afterwards, we can all head to T'Friendly's and get a jelly-filled _heselah._ What do you say?"

Uhura laughed. "It's _T'Frena's_ , and _heselah_ isn't a donut."

McCoy's eyebrows popped upwards. "It's not?"

"No, it's sort of like…spicy onion rings."

"Jelly and onions. Yuck." McCoy made a face. "So…?" He moved his hands up and down alternately.

Uhura licked her lips and sighed. "You talked me into it. I can almost taste them _now_." She turned around to leave, pausing. "Just let me get freshened up, update my duty log, and I'll join you guys in…" She thought for a moment. "Half an hour?"

"Okay. Just tell the transporter operator you're with Jim's party." McCoy headed in the opposite direction. "He'll set you down right at the gates of the amusement park."

Uhura's earpiece detached from her collar and clanked to the floor. "Did you say 'amusement park'?"

"Well, this is lame." McCoy tucked his hands in his jeans pockets and tapped one foot on the ground. "We've been waiting here for an hour and they're still not open for business. What kind of amusement park is only open at night?"

"A logical one." Kirk stood up on his tiptoes and peered over the heads of the people standing ahead of them in line. "It's cooler in the evenings here. Don't want your all customers passing out from heat stroke and what not."

"Don't want them falling asleep on the Ferris wheel, either." McCoy turned and glanced back at the crowd behind them. Several crewmembers from the _Enterprise_ , including Chekov and Scotty, were standing amongst the multitude of Vulcans waiting there, dressed in their street clothes. The engineer was drawing a diagram in the air with his finger, and Chekov was studying it with interest, as though he could actually figure our what the chief engineer was trying to show him. "Surprised that golden tongue of yours managed to talk Scotty into it, though."

Kirk didn't meet his gaze. "Told him there's a warp-core-go-round. He bit."

" _Is_ there?" McCoy queried, raising an eyebrow.

Kirk sighed and shrugged. "Dunno, but it seems like the kind of thing a Vulcan theme park might have. All sciencey, ya know?" He kicked a stone on the ground, glancing away as it struck a nearby trash receptacle. McCoy focused on the crowd again. Two adolescent male Vulcans were now engaged in conversation with Scott and Chekov, one of them tracing a finger along the outer edge of Scott's "design", which caused the engineer to nod thoughtfully.

"Leonard!" A slender arm lifted above the crowd some distance back, waving at them. "Jim!"

"How'd she see us through the mob?" Kirk frowned. "Over here!" he called, waving back with both arms.

McCoy lifted one arm to signal to her, but it made contact with the individual next to him. "Sorry," he muttered.

"That is quite all right," Spock replied.

McCoy jumped. "Spock!"

"I understand crowd dynamics, Doctor. Also, I approached from behind you, so you could not have possibly seen me." The Vulcan leaned towards a sign affixed to the gates. "It will only be two more minutes before the park opens."

"Spock," McCoy whispered, taking him by both arms, "what are you doing here?"

The Vulcan pried himself loose, one arm at a time, rubbing them to bring back the circulation. "This _is_ my adopted homeworld, Doctor. Why does it surprise you that I should wish to visit it?"

"But you're…busy." McCoy glanced over in Uhura's direction, looking for glimpses of the green blouse she was wearing. "All of those conference notes to study, documents to prepare." He nodded up and down rapidly.

"I _was_ busy," Spock replied. "And then I recalled advice I was given once by a certain medical professional regarding the preservation of my visual acuity and the prevention of a nervous breakdown." He eyed McCoy meaningfully. "I trust that still applies, Doctor." He turned around and glanced through the gates, then headed in the opposite direction until he appeared next to two street wear-clad science division officers who greeted him respectfully.

McCoy pushed through the crowd and tapped Kirk on the shoulder. "Jim! Spock's here!"

"Oh?" Kirk glanced over McCoy's head at the first officer and smiled. "Good. I hoped that-"

"Good?!" McCoy stage-whispered, grabbing Kirk by the shoulders and shaking him. "Jim, the only reason Uhura agreed to come was because she thought Spock _wouldn't_ be here!"

"Oh. Bad, then." Kirk frowned. "Is that _still_ going on? I thought they'd have made up by now."

"Well, they haven't! And it would be totally awkward if they-"

"Hey, Nyota. Glad you made it!" Kirk interrupted loudly.

McCoy whipped around. Uhura was standing just behind them, smiling softly, one hand on her hip. "Hey yourselves."

He coughed. "Park opens in a minute." McCoy glanced at Spock. The Vulcan stood there, head tilted, as though trying to hear something. Inhaling sharply, McCoy stepped in front of Uhura. "It's-uh, here, let me give you some shade. Phew," he puffed out, fanning his face with one hand, "it's roasting out here."

"Actually," Kirk pursed his lips. "it's not that ba-"

"Terrible!" McCoy said, shifting his body sideways when Uhura tried to move out from his shadow. "Got that hot sun beating down on your head. Don't want you to get sunstroke." He extended his arms out to the sides and searched the crowd again, sidestepping right to left and back. Spock was moving towards them again, his stride purposeful, despite being broken up by other park visitors in his way.

Uhura ducked under one of his outstretched arms. "In case you haven't noticed, the sun's setting. Stop being such a-mmm! Leonard!" she shouted as he covered her mouth.

"Somebody pushed me," he lied, just as the gates began to creak open. "Look. Park's open," he continued, pushing her in the general direction of the entry. "Come on, Jim. You oughta be able to find a wheel of death in there somewhere." McCoy jumped as Spock appeared by the gateway, and spun Uhura in the opposite direction, shoving her through the crowd. "You know what? This was a terrible idea. You're totally right. All of these Vulcans, it's too soon. Why don't you go on back up to the _Enterprise_ and-"

"Nyota."

Both McCoy and Uhura froze. "Spock," she began, her tone cool but mixed with a note of lingering affection.

They said nothing for several moments. McCoy coughed, breaking the silence. "Spock," he uttered in a strangled voice. "fancy meeting you here."

"Awkward," Jim muttered under his breath, one hand on the gate post.

"As we just encountered each other not one minute ago, your statement is either a lie or cause for concern." Spock lowered his chin to his chest. "Why are you attempting to direct Nyota's path?"

"Yes," Uhura agreed, yanking away from McCoy's grip, "why?" She moved a step closer to Spock, dusting off her sleeves, and looked up at him with a guarded expression. "Where's Veylik? Didn't she want to come?"

"She is visiting her brother at the archive," Spock replied, hands folded behind his back. "We are not taking leave together, if that is what you are asking." At a low rumbling sound, he looked over his shoulder. McCoy followed his gaze. The heavy gates at the entrance of the park were opening automatically. "The park is open. Would you like to accompany me?"

Uhura looked between Spock and McCoy, meeting the doctor's gaze with a question in her eyes. McCoy gave her an eye roll and crossed his arms over his chest, mouthing, " _Just say yes, already._ "

Biting her lip, Uhura slipped her arm into the crook of Spock's. "Okay. Coming, fellas?" she asked McCoy and Kirk.

McCoy snorted. "Oh, that'll be _real_ cozy."

"Count me in," Kirk said. "I can't read all of these signs, anyway. I might fall through a trapdoor or walk into the wrong washroom or something without Spock and you to translate. Come on, Bones." He followed Spock and Uhura through the gates, his steps jaunty.

After a moment, McCoy headed inside after them. He looked around the park as he caught up to his crewmates. Several rides stood out against the darkening horizon; what appeared to be a roller coaster, a spinning swing ride, a tall ramp glistening with droplets of water, and some other thrill attractions he didn't recognize. "So what are we doing first?" McCoy stopped next to the other three, who were studying a map affixed to a short post. "Is there a mind reader tent or a kissing booth we can visit?" he queried, chuckling at the latter.

"Coaster," Kirk replied, not looking up. "Gotta be the coaster."

McCoy groaned. "I _knew_ you'd say that. Heaven help me, just _once_ I'd like to beam back to the transporter room, not directly to sickbay. Wouldn't you?" He let out a long sigh, hands on his hips. "All right, so where is the line for this Barf-o-matic, anyway?"

Uhura made a face. "Over there," she replied, pointing to a small push-gate that two Vulcans were passing through. She smiled at Spock. "Come on; if we hurry, we can get on the first ride of the evening."

"That's incentive?" McCoy shrugged, then followed a few paces behind the group.

They were met by a Vulcan attendant, who opened the door of the car and assisted them in seating themselves. McCoy shifted in his seat as the safety restraint was lowered over his chest and secured in place. "Please refrain from extending your appendages beyond the lateral limits of the car," the attendant intoned, parting the fingers of his hand. "May you find this experience fulfilling. Live long and prosper." He dipped his head and stepped back behind the safety bar.

Kirk glanced at McCoy out of the corner of his eye as the car jerked forward. "Hear that? You're not going to die."

"Oh, yeah? Then tell me why he felt the need to wish me a long life if it's supposed to be a given." McCoy gripped his restraint tightly with both hands, looking over the edge of the coaster track. The ground below was getting increasingly farther away.

"It is a traditional Vulcan farewell, Doctor." Spock closed his eyes, relaxing against the seat. "Do not presume it means anything more than that. We cannot read the future, but we do theorize and expect."

Uhura leaned her head closer to Spock, grinning at McCoy. "Cheer up, Leonard; it's only as fun as you let it be." She returned her gaze to the crest of the hill, which was approaching slowly. "What kind of foods do they sell at the concession stands?" she asked Spock. "I'm already getting thirsty."

Kirk licked his lips. "Same here."

"Guess I should have brought-"

The two Vulcans seated in front of them cleared their throats simultaneously, interrupting her. "If you don't mind," one of the men said, clearly annoyed.

Kirk and Uhura exchanged confused glances. "What's the point? We're just going to be screaming our heads off in a second anyway," McCoy grumbled under his breath.

Kirk elbowed him in the ribs as the car jerked to a stop at the crest of the hill. "Shh. Here it comes." He leaned slightly forward, his eyes alight with anticipation. Uhura studied Spock, whose face was placid, eyes closed.

McCoy tensed up, gripping the restraint again, his eyes screwed shut. After a minute, he opened one eye. The car still sat at the top of the hill, shrouded in darkness. "Why aren't we moving?"

Kirk looked from right to left. "Uh oh. I think we're stuck up here. Look. The lights have gone out." He pointed to the deactivated spotlights which surrounded the ride on all sides.

"Maybe they're having a power outage?" Uhura suggested. "Anybody bring their comm so we can call for assistance?"

"Nope, sorry," Kirk apologized. "This is my night off."

"Me neither," McCoy admitted. "I suppose we could always try yelling 'help'. Spock, what about you?"

The Vulcan did not reply. Instead, he removed a piece of folded paper from his pocket that McCoy recognized as a map of the park, thumb covering the top of the English language section.

McCoy took the document from him and looked at the banner across the top that he indicated. "Contemplation World?"

"Let me see that." Kirk reached for the booklet and studied the legend. "Hmm. According to this," he whispered, "we're on the Attentive Express."

"That's an odd name for a ride," Uhura commented. "Unless you're supposed to be ruminating on the fact that your life is flashing before your eyes."

"What else?" McCoy shrugged, looking back at Kirk. "Does it say how long we're supposed to stay up here?"

Kirk shook his head. "No."

McCoy leaned back in his seat. "Might as well get comfortable then. Between the shush police up front and Spock, we can't even carry on a conversation while we wait. All we can do is take a little snooze, or just…sit…here…and… _think_." He let the map slip from his hand onto the floor of the car. " _Contemplation_ World. As in, _contemplative_ silence…"

Kirk leaned forward and looked at McCoy. "What?" He turned and looked back at Spock, who sat silently, expressionless and motionless. "Unbelievable."

Uhura covered her face with both hands. "A theme park…with a roller coaster…that doesn't _roll?_ "

McCoy reached around Kirk and patted her shoulder gently. "There, there. I feel your pain."

"Don't you think you're taking it-" Kirk pinched his fingers together, leaving less than a centimeter of space between "- a _teense_ too far?"

The same Vulcan who had shushed them earlier had just turned around again, an annoyed look on his face, when the car jerked forward with a start, causing him to close his mouth and bump against his restraint. "Ah!" His companion said nothing; his head listed to the side, complexion slightly yellowed.

"Whoooooa!" McCoy held his arms close to his sides, swallowing hard, the wind ruffling his hair. "Where's your contemplation nooooow?"

Kirk let out a loud whoop, Uhura threw her hands up in the air, and even Spock inhaled sharply as the car dropped suddenly, rocketing to the bottom of the next curve. "On the next peak, Doctor," he replied as the car began its slow ascent. "And the next."

McCoy turned to Kirk. "You didn't by any chance bring a parachute, did you?" he shouted.

Kirk shook his head.

"Lovely."


	15. Shhh!

"And then, there was the Hall of Mirrors." McCoy stretched out in his shuttle seat, eyes scrunched closed. "Course, it wasn't the kind that makes you look all distorted and funny. Oh, no. These ones took you out of the picture _entirely_." He stretched his hands out in front of his face in a frame shape. "Black glass, no reflection. Just darkness. Imagine." Leaning forward, he clasped both hands on his right knee, which was crossed over his left leg.

"I'm trying to forget." Kirk stuffed his hand into a black paper sack and pulled out a handful of what looked like jerky bits. "You should've seen the concession stands. Everything looked burnt to a crisp. Tastes okay, though." He popped the snack food in his mouth and chewed noiselessly, then turned to Uhura, who was re-braiding her hair in the row behind them. "Where'd you two get off to? I looked all around for you and Spock. Had to ride the whisper-go-round all by myself." He crumpled up the paper sack and stuffed it down into his seat, then mimed holding onto the bar protruding from a carousel pony, moving up and back down slowly.

"You'll live," Uhura assured him, looping a hair tie around the bottom of her braid. "In answer to your question, we took a ride through the tunnel of-"

Kirk turned around and knelt on his seat, then leaned forward until his face was almost touching hers. "The tunnel of love? _Really_ …" He gave her a knowing smile. "How'd I ever miss that one?" he asked, unfolding a copy of the theme park's map and turning it around, looking for the attraction.

Uhura placed one hand on the map and pushed it down. "It's not the tunnel of _love_ , Jim. The tunnel of _silence_."

McCoy sighed. "A long, dark tunnel," he snorted. "Big surprise there. Of all the theme park attractions Contemplation World could have, it figures _that'd_ be one of them."

Kirk rested his chin on his folded arms. "Soooo….what'd you two lovebirds _do_ in there, anyway?"

Uhura rolled her eyes. "Literally nothing. He immersed himself in the silence and let it consume him completely. It was like we weren't even together." She rubbed her arms. "Still aren't. He's back there, using his app. Told me he had to get his daily quota of " _non-amplified silence_ ", as he called it."

"And by non-amplified, I assume you mean without gimmicks?" McCoy stood up from his seat and looked to the back of the row. Spock was wearing sunglasses and a pair of noise-cancelling headphones. He appeared to be totally engrossed in his tablet. A large stuffed shapeless form sat in the seat next to him. "What's with the big black hairy thing?"

"He won that for me at the beanless-bag toss. It's supposed to be a shadow plushie." Uhura closed her eyes, leaning back in her seat. "I haven't figured out how to tell him that the thing freaks me out and no way in Starfleet am I sharing a room with it. Besides," she yawned, covering her mouth with one hand, "I'm way too tired to get into an argument with him right now."

"Want me to tell him for you?" McCoy offered.

"Be my guest," Uhura waved him on, turning in her seat and resting her head on her folded arms.

Slowly, McCoy stood and walked down the aisle until he came to Spock's row. Squeezing past the plushie and Spock's legs, he took the window seat. "Hey, Spock," he muttered, removing the earphones from the Vulcan's head.

Spock nodded.

"Beautiful night." McCoy glanced out his window at the stars outside.

"Mmm."

McCoy crossed one leg over the other. "Listen, Spock? Nyota's bushed, but she wanted me to explain something' to ya." He indicated the plushie with one hand. "It's about the little-" he choked on the word- "prize you won for Nyota." McCoy chuckled. "See, Spock-nothing personal, mind you- but the thing is, she doesn't really care for it." He pursed his lips. "Matter of fact, she's downright-"

A loud snore interrupted him mid-sentence. McCoy looked up. The Vulcan was listing forward in his seat. Pushing Spock gently back against his chair, McCoy moved the tablet off his lap and removed his sunglasses. Spock's eyes were closed. He looked completely at peace.

McCoy shook his head and moved back to his former seat. Kirk was reading a report on a tablet, while Uhura was fast asleep in her seat.

"So?" Kirk looked up at McCoy. "What'd he say?"

"Didn't say nothing. He's dead to the world." Another snore louder than the first floated through the shuttle. "And anything _but_ silent." McCoy lowered himself slowly into his shuttle seat, shaking his head. "Probably _bored_ himself to sleep."


	16. I Can't Even Silence!

Leonard McCoy rummaged through the drawer of memory tapes, flicking past them one at a time as he recognized the titles. Everything was where it was supposed to be. "Well, that takes care of the Gs," he muttered under his breath. "I _know_ I filed that discourse on _gammacoccus_ _geophilia_ somewhere." Shoving the drawer closed, he moved on to the Hs. "Halitosis…hematoma…heterochromia-"

 _Hic!_

McCoy spun around, his hand resting on top of the tapes. "Thought I locked that door," he drawled, a slow grin spreading across his face.

"As first officer, I - _hic!_ \- possess knowledge of certain override codes." Spock stood in the doorway, a slight frown pinching his brows together. "I require your assistance- _hic!_ _-_ Doctor." He cleared his throat. "My dilemma is - _hic! -_ medical in nature."

McCoy pushed the drawer shut with a soft _click_ and tapped his lip thoughtfully with one finger. "Don't tell me, let me guess." He moved around behind his desk and brought up Spock's medical record on his computer. "How long have you been having these hiccups? A couple of days?"

Spock shook his head. "My - _hic! -_ diaphragmatic spasms began at approximately 1100 hours, and they have not ab- _hic!-_ abated, despite three glasses of water, oxygen deprivation, or a sudden - _hic! -_ application of psychological stimuli, courtesy of - _hic! -Chaos_. I thought you could perhaps give me a muscle - _hic!_ \- relaxant."

McCoy glanced at the corner of his computer screen. "1100 hours? It's only 1117 now." He plopped down in his chair and sighed. "Have you tried a spoonful of sugar? Cod liver oil? Breathing into a paper bag?"

Spock shook his head. " _Hic!_ "

"Well, why don't you take an early lunch and see how you feel after that? Your work can wait. It's not like we're at red alert or something." McCoy leaned back, his hands behind his head.

"It is my - _hic!_ \- day off," Spock explained, his frown deepening.

"Even better. No need to worry about dropping test tubes full of corrosive material or pressing the torpedo launch button by accident." McCoy sat forward in his chair, spreading his hands wide. "Believe it or not, some things just go away on their own. It took you a _week_ to finally see me after that Grevinian broke two of your ribs. Why are you so concerned about this, anyway? Hiccups aren't contagious."

"They are interfering with my recreational activities, Doctor." Spock sighed. "It is - _hic! -_ impossible to have contemplative silence when - _hic! -_ one's own diaphragm betrays you."

McCoy dropped the stylus he had been reaching for on his desktop. It rolled away just out of his reach. " _That's_ why you're upset?!" He shook his head. "Your hiccups interrupt the silence…" His voice trailed off.

"I assure you, it is no laughing mat- _hic!_ _-_ ter." Spock clenched his fists at his sides and gritted his teeth. "If you are unwilling to assist me, then I will find someone else. And I will be sure to tell them about your refusal to treat my condition."

"You do that. And _I'll_ be sure to tell them that _you_ expect _me_ to pass out drugs like candy, because you like to sit in a dark room quietly thinking about nothing without interruption."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Your description does rather cast my request in a bad light. You make it sound as if I was bordering on insanity."

"Aren't you? Goodness knows, _I_ am." McCoy leaned forward and picked up the stylus, twirling it in between his fingers. "They're gone, by the way."

"Hmm." Spock closed his eyes for a few seconds, standing still. "Indeed they are." His shoulders relaxed. "Thank you, Doctor."

"For what? I didn't even give you a placebo."

"It may be that the level of aggravation I experienced as a result of your response to my request for aid was in fact the mechanism by which the spasms were halted." Spock folded his hands behind his back. "Counterintuitive as it might seem, I must commend you for your stubbornness."

McCoy chuckled. "Guess that's one thing we have in common." He made a small note in Spock's record, saved it, and exited the database. "On that note, are you coming to the senior staff Christmas party this time, or am I and Nyota going to have to drag you again?"

"Actually…" Spock glanced away. "I have been chosen to oversee the preparations for this year's holiday event."

"You?" McCoy choked on his saliva. "That's like asking Scotty to guard your drink while you use the restroom. You gotta lower your expectations."

"I _am_ familiar with certain festive traditions practiced by my mother's people, Doctor. I can assure you that I am fully capable of organizing the details of a party. As a diplomat, my father hosted many gatherings at our home on Vulcan, some of which I attended during my formative years. I promise you that the evening will be memorable."

McCoy nodded. "No doubt. Well, I guess you probably want to get back to your silence now. I'll - _hic!-_ leave you to it," he finished, covering his mouth with one hand. "Happy quiet time - _hic!"_

Spock's brows rose. "I thought you said they were not contagious, Doctor." With a bit of amusement in his eyes, he turned and exited the room.

"They're - _hic! -_ not!" McCoy groaned. "Not usually, anyway," he muttered under his breath, pacing across the room towards a replicator. "Computer, a glass of cold - _hic!-_ water," he growled.


	17. Silence Night

"Deck the halls with boughs of holly…" The single bell dangling from McCoy's elf hat jingled as he passed through the turbolift doors. Smiling faintly, he strode down the hallway towards the senior staff lounge, carrying a crate in his arms. Every crewman he passed seemed to have the Christmas spirit, despite being so far away from their families. Even those Humans who didn't celebrate the holiday and crew from other planets nevertheless joined in on the celebratory activities.

He ducked out of the way as a sciences division Tellarite lieutenant junior grade reached up and hung a sprig of mistletoe just above his head.

"What's the matter, Doctor? Afraid of a little parasitic plant?" She winked at him, puckering her lips.

"No, and cut that out, Thivel." McCoy jerked backwards, then tip-toed around the treacherous plant. "I'm allergic to-"

"Affection?" She crossed her arms over her chest, tapping one foot on the floor.

"No, I was actually going to say, "mistletoe". But whatever, one lie's as good as another." McCoy chuckled. "Careful where you stand after you hang that thing. You might catch somebody you _don't_ want under there."

"I'll remember that. Don't wanna keep you from your party." Thivel pointed a thumb in the direction McCoy was headed. "Merry Christmas, Doctor. Enjoy."

" _Jeta-sim Bhua-di,_ Thivel." McCoy nodded at her, making his hat jingle again. She waved her goodbyes, then turned at the sound of her name, greeting two security officers who were carrying mugs filled with a purple foamy drink. Shaking his head, McCoy continued towards the door of the lounge. He was just about to pass through the doors when he bumped into a short officer whose hair was combed back over his head. "Sorry, Yeoman."

Yeoman Davey shrugged. "That for the party? I'll take it." The redshirt grabbed the crate from McCoy and set it down just inside the room, turning and barring the doorway when McCoy tried to enter. "You'll have to wait outside, though. Commander says nobody but himself and me are allowed in just yet."

McCoy frowned. "So that makes you Spock's bouncer, then?"

Davey leaned one hand against the doorframe. "Yeah, I guess. Sorry, Doc. I'd sneak you in the back door, only there isn't one." He scrubbed the side of his head with his other hand. "You understand, right?"

"I do and I don't." McCoy threw his hands up in the air. "What's with all the security? You'd think this was a Federation summit meeting, not a holiday bash."

"Beats me. I'm just helping him with the decorations." Davey rolled his eyes. "Such as they are." He headed back inside, the door sliding shut behind him.

"Maybe Spock wants it to be a surprise." McCoy turned at the sound of Kirk's voice. Instead of his casual duty uniform, the captain was wearing khakis and a sweater with red and white striped sleeves and a big evergreen tree on the front, decorated with dangling yarn in the shape of paper chains, and topped with a gold Starfleet delta. The yarn appeared to have glitter interwoven throughout, catching the light.

"Egads. That is the ugliest Christmas sweater I have ever seen in my life." McCoy covered his eyes. "Spock's gonna have a stroke when he sees that monstrosity."

"He will not." Uhura glanced at a compact mirror, then snapped it shut and slipped it into her handbag. "You know, you don't give him enough credit. A _stroke_? Two eyebrows, yes, but bursting blood vessels is _your_ thing, not his." She squeezed his left arm affectionately. "Relax, Leonard."

Sulu fiddled with a couple of memory tapes in his hand. The one on top was labeled _Classic Christmas Playlist._ "Nice hat, Doc." He tugged on the collar of his plaid flannel shirt. "What are you supposed to be? An elf?"

McCoy shook his head. "Nah. Don't have the ears for it," he grinned, pinching his right upper earlobe into a point. "I may not be a pastry chef, either, but I brought some ginger snaps and my granny's eggnog."

Scotty clapped him on the shoulder. "Aye, we must've been on the same wavelength, laddie." He lifted an insulated bag from the ground, testing the weight. "Scottish shortbread and a cup of cheer." He leaned closer to the doctor's ear and whispered, "Courtesy of Spock's.. ahem… distant cousins on his daddy's side. But that's just betwixt you, me, an' the-"

"-captain, who's bound by the same Starfleet and Federation trade regulations as you." Kirk pushed his way in between them, glancing back and forth at both men. "That is, assuming he's _aware_ that a crime is being committed." He put his arm around each man's shoulder and glared at Scott. "Which I am not. Let's keep it that way, shall we?"

Scott gulped. "Aye, sir." He turned as Chekov appeared behind him, holocamera in hand. "Merry Christmas, Pavel," he exclaimed, grabbing the navigator's other hand and pumping it up and down.

Chekov frowned in confusion. "Am I too late? I thought the party began at 2000 hours." He flexed the hand Scotty had gripped, then wiped it on his pant leg.

McCoy shook his head. "Nah, kid. Spock's just taking a while to deck the halls. You know how he gets when he's given a task to complete. Everything has to be just so." McCoy pinched his thumb and forefinger together. "He's probably in there weighing the tinsel or something."

Uhura licked her lips. "I hope that's all it is."

"You think he might have gotten lost in the memories of Christmases past?" McCoy asked gently.

She shook her head. "Lost in something. Or should I say, _nothing_." A wry smile brightened her features. "The new _Contemplative Silence_ tie-in novel came out two days ago, and he stayed up until 0345 this morning reading it. Even then, he only managed to get halfway through it. I thought maybe he might be…well, so enthralled with his book that he's forgotten all _about_ the party."

A chorus of groans issued from the crowd. McCoy crossed his arms. "He'd better not be. I postponed an important conference call with the Dren'sar Medical Council to attend a Christmas party, not so our bookaholic first officer can scratch a silent itch." He looked up as Davey exited the lounge, frowning. "Well? Is he ready for us or not, Yeoman?" McCoy asked, one hand placed on Davey's chest.

Davey sighed. "Yeah. He is. But I'm not sure you're ready for him," he finished, eying the jingle bell on McCoy's hat.

"What's that supposed to mean?" McCoy asked, reaching up adjust the brim of his hat, jingling the bell again.

Davey shrugged. "You'll see in a minute." He pushed past the gathered crowd of officers, shaking his head, and disappeared around the corner of the corridor. Something fluttered to the floor in his wake.

McCoy reached down to pick it up. A single strand of black shiny foil dangled from his hand. "Looks like a piece of tinsel hitched a ride." He frowned as a peculiar tingly feeling moved over his scalp.

Uhura took the strand from his hand. "Maybe it's Spock's bookmark," she offered, glancing over McCoy's shoulder. "Spock? Can we go in yet?"

McCoy turned around. Spock stood by the doorway, his hands folded behind his back, his face the picture of calm. "Yes. I have finished with the preparations. The party commences now." He stepped aside, allowing them access to the doorway.

"It's about time," McCoy grumbled. "I was gettin' decidedly less jolly by the minute out here waiting for you to make the tree symmetrical." He stepped into the lounge, followed by the rest of the crew. "Where'd you put my cookies and eggnog?"

"The refreshments are on the tables at the back of the room," Spock replied. McCoy noticed that the lounge tables had been pushed together against the far wall and covered with a black tablecloth. His cookies and eggnog were arranged on the left side, next to a bowl of blackberry punch and a jar of dark-striped candy canes…

 _Dark…_

McCoy squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them one at a time. The walls of the lounge, which were normally colored a cheerful sky blue, were as dark as charcoal. Black wreaths festooned with black ribbons covered the walls. A black tree stood in the corner of the room, heaped with reams of the same black tinsel Davey had dropped, more black candy canes, little black balls, and tiny plushies. A black star sat on top.

McCoy swallowed. "Merry… _Christmas_?" he croaked.

Uhura dropped the tinsel she had been holding. "Ho, ho, ho," she quipped, pacing toward her boyfriend, hands on hips. "Spock, what did you _do_ to this room?"

Kirk held one finger up in the air. "Uhhhh…silence-ized it?" He glanced down at his front. " _Really_ glad I wore this sweater now," he added, fingering the "paper chains".

The other crew entered the room, their faces a mixture of confusion and dawning comprehension. Chekov fumbled with his camera, nearly dropping it on the floor. Scotty unzipped his bag and pulled out his "cup of cheer", taking a healthy swig straight from the bottle. Sulu slipped the memory tapes into his shirt pocket and moved towards the tree, looking for any sign of light or color.

"I assure you, the black paint is only temporary. It comes off with the application of a standard detergent and what I believe you would call "elbow grease"." Spock stood in the middle of the room, spreading his hands apart in a gesture of welcome. "I hope you will all enjoy the festivities."

"Fest…" McCoy trailed off, sinking into a chair next to the wall. Putting his head in his hands, he drew in a shaky breath, letting it out in a rush. "I think I'm going to faint," he mumbled.

Spock walked over to the tables and chose one of McCoy's gingerbread cookie from the platter. Kneeling down next to the doctor's chair, the Vulcan offered the cookie to him. "When was the last time you ate something, Doctor? As you know, low blood sug-"

McCoy slapped the cookie out of Spock's hand. It hit the wall, crumbling into several pieces. "My blood sugar is just fine, Spock! It's my _brain_ that's all out of whack! No, I take that back; _yours!_ " His face reddened with anger. "This… _this_ is the sorriest excuse I ever saw for a Christmas party! You-are-unbelievable! Contemplative Silence…" He threw his hands up in the air. "Of all things…" He laughed dryly, poking his finger into Spock's chest. "So tell me, Mr. Grinch. What else have you got besides black trees and candy? Black light twinkle lights? Dark garland?"

"Hello." McCoy swiveled his head. Sulu shifted his feet uncomfortably, gesturing upwards with his head. Dark lights wrapped around ebony swag glowed softly above him.

McCoy grabbed Spock's black sweater, yanking it towards him. "What _else_ , huh?! Black wrapped gifts?! Clapperless bells?!"

Spock remained the picture of calm, gently unwinding McCoy's fingers one by one. "Please, Doctor."

Scotty coughed. In his hands, he held a black box tied with a black bow. He shook it next to his ear, trying to figure out what it was. No sound came from the package. He cast a look towards his cheer. Uhura rummaged through several other boxes, shaking her head in disbelief.

Chekov tapped a dark bell with his finger. Nothing. He looked inside the ornament. "It's all _true_ ," he whispered aloud, incredulous. "Anything you _can_ come up with, he _has_." He turned on his camera and began taking photos. "Nobody vould ever believe me if I didn't document thees."

McCoy fisted his hands at his sides. "Is _nothing_ sacred to you," he hissed, "you little-"

"All right, Bones. Break it up." Kirk pushed his way between McCoy and Spock. He took a sip of punch from his cup, putting an arm around the doctor's shoulders and steering him towards the refreshments. "Go pick up your cookie and cool off a little. Christmas is a time for love, joy, and peace, not strangling your colleagues." A candy cane dangled from his sweater, hooked on one of the "paper chains".

McCoy sighed. "I know, I know." He slipped his hands into his pockets. "I was actually looking _forward_ to this party, you know. I should've _known_ he'd turn Christmas into Silence Day." Spying a small computer console on a stand near the wall, he snapped his fingers. "That's what's missing. A little music."

"That's the spirit." Kirk grinned. "What with your eggnog and Scotty's… _cheer_ , we'll be seeing plenty of lights and colors. Speaking of which…" He accepted a cup from the engineer, toasting him with it. "To a _very_ merry Christmas."

McCoy shook his head, smiling as he pressed a button on the console. "Sulu, bring your playlist tapes over here and let's get this party started." A small tape ejected from the tape slot. He picked it up. "What's this?"

Sulu peered over McCoy's shoulder at the tape's label. _"Sounds of Silence, Vol. 1."_

"Yes." Spock took the tape from McCoy and re-inserted it in the slot. "I had it on shuffle." McCoy stared at him, jaw hanging open. "As you can see, I have been quite thorough in my preparations for this party, ambience included. I had not forgotten about the music." He pressed the play button, closed his eyes, and listened for a few seconds. "Ah. That's better."

"Music," McCoy scoffed. "What's playing now, "Silent Night"?" He hummed the first couple of bars of the carol.

Spock raised an eyebrow.

McCoy was just about to say something when Uhura tugged on his sleeve. "Leonard, you have to see this." She angled her head towards the opposite wall of the room. "Come on."

"What is it? Don't tell me he's figured out a way to make silent peanut brittle, too," McCoy quipped, following her footsteps.

"Let's just say…it's an answer to one of your earlier questions." She stopped in front of the table and waved a hand at the ornament that had been placed there.

It was a small Nativity scene that looked to be hand-carved and painted. McCoy leaned closer, studying the intricate details of the people's faces, the folds of their clothing, the wool of the sheep, the angel's wings. "Well, now…"

"Of all of the symbols that are customary at this time of year, I found myself oddly…loath to adapt this one to _Contemplative Silence_." Spock stood between Uhura and McCoy, his gaze pensive. "It is, after all, the reason a holiday known as Christmas exists to this day, the appropriation of certain customs from other religions and cultures aside."

McCoy studied him for a moment. "Could've left it out altogether," he began slowly. "Since it doesn't fit with the 'theme', after all."

Spock nodded slowly. "I could have." He looked over at the others, who had crowded around, drawn by the conversation. "But I did not _want_ to."

McCoy's gaze returned to the babe in the manger. "The one light shinin' in the darkness…" He studied the faces of his friends and co-workers. Joy born of togetherness, of having braved the unknown and survived, shone in their eyes. Even Spock seemed at peace, one arm around Uhura's waist as she rested her head on his shoulder.

Sniffling, McCoy wiped away a tear that trailed down his cheek. He reached out a hand towards the Vulcan. "Merry Christmas, Spock."

Spock took his hand and shook it. "And a silent night, Leonard."

McCoy laughed. "Not _too_ silent, I hope."


	18. The Bet

" _T'Sel has elevated this craft to an art form. Notice her calm, shallow respirations, the poetry of her inscrutable expression. Makanna, on the other hand, appears to be wavering in her attempt at matching the veteran silence for silence."_

 _"I concur, Keval. She appears to be suffering from some form of distress. Her brow is furrowed ever so slightly. Let us examine a visual replay of the moment…"_

McCoy leaned on one hand as his elbow rested on the couch arm, blinking slowly at the scene on the television screen. Several shots of Makanna's forehead creasing was replayed side by side next to T'Sel's complete indifference. He yawned, covering his mouth with the other hand. "Well, come on. It's been…" Leaning forward, he studied the silence time counter on the screen. "4 hours, 26 minutes, and…25, 26 seconds and counting. A bit of discomfort is to be _expected_ when you play freeze tag for that long. Kinda wish one of the refs would come over and shout, " _olly olly oxen free_ ," put her out of her misery." He picked up a glass bottle of ginger ale from the table and took a drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Spock squeezed the couch cushion slightly. "Both T'Sel and Makanna have been training intensively for the event and others like it, Doctor. To experience problems this early on during a competition is usually a marker of inexperience, infirmity, or lack of discipline. Given that Makanna has only been competing in the elite league for six months, I tend to lean toward the first choice. She ascended to this level in rapid succession; perhaps, as some have opined, _too_ soon."

"Soooo…" McCoy chuckled, emptying his ginger ale bottle. "The female Vulcan competitive silence athlete answer to Jim?" He pushed himself up from the couch and headed for the replicator.

"Essentially." Spock relaxed back into his seat as the competition broke for advertisements. "I do not share this opinion where Captain Kirk is concerned, however. I suppose when one is surrounded by those who can, "pick up the slack", as it were, there is a margin for allowable personal error, to some extent."

"But you can't exactly do that for silence, can you?" McCoy tapped a couple of buttons, dematerializing his empty bottle and replacing it with a full one. "I mean, it's not like you can sit on your couch and counsel your favorite competitor on how to be _more_ silent." He popped the top. "Want one?"

"No, thank you. Regarding your other question, no, not unless one shares a pre-existing mental bond with the competitor in question. Even then, such a move would be against the rules of solo silence."

"Solo silence?" McCoy sat down at his end of the sofa, bottle in hand. "You say that like there are other kinds." He took a drink. "Ahhhh."

"Because there are." Spock lifted one hand and began counting on his fingers. "For instance, there are partner and group competitions, wherein teams of two or more compete simultaneously. There are also relay events, in which individuals on the same team take turns being silent for a predetermined amount of time. Some competitions award points or demerits based upon one's performance, while others, such as the one we are watching, are single-failure disqualifications. One's first inability to maintain silence ends the match."

McCoy gripped his pop bottle so hard that the condensation nearly caused it to slip out of his hands. "You Vulcans have _way_ too much time on your hands, you know that?"

Spock held one finger to his lips and pointed to the screen. "Shh. The broadcast has returned."

McCoy looked back over at the screen. The two competitors didn't appear to have moved once since the break.

" _We have returned to the Arena of Slokk for this, one of many elimination matches taking place today,"_ one of the announcers intoned. " _As always, anything can occur in these early rounds_. _We have already witnessed several shocking outcomes in the past week, such as Deran's thrilling upset of last year's champion, Bevek, and Pauron's disqualification upon being found to have utilized performance enhancing substances during the qualifying rounds."_

"Somebody actually cheated?" McCoy put his hand over his heart. "I thought you guys were too saintly for that sort of thing."

Spock narrowed his eyes. "As you are well aware, Leonard, in any such contest of skill, there are always those who resort to…dishonest measures in their quest for victory." He sighed. "The fact that these competitors are Vulcan in no way precludes the possibility of such actions, although it does not happen as frequently as it once did in your Olympic games."

"Well, yeah, but…" McCoy set down the bottle and played with the cap, snapping it. "'Performance enhancing substances'? What'd he do, take a sleeping pill?"

"… _displays the calm that has made her a legend in her home colony on Caspel II. She has not moved since the opening gong sounded…"_ A close-up of T'Sel's face showed it to be frozen like a mask, not a hint of emotion displayed thereon.

"Somebody oughta poke her, see if she snores," McCoy joked.

"All competitors have worn an EEG monitor ever since Rakinik lost the crown in 2198 after falling asleep. His lapse in consciousness was not discovered until his opponent forfeited the match, nine hours later."

"Bored, was he?"

"No. At the time of the competition, he was well into his 19th decade. It was only to be expected."

McCoy dropped backwards in his seat, tossing the bottle cap sideways. It landed on the floor with a ringing sound, then rolled on its edge towards the door. "Soooo…care to make a friendly little… _wager_ on the outcome of this event?"

Spock did not look up. "Gamble, Doctor?"

"If you wanna call it that." McCoy interlaced his fingers and flexed his hands. "Okay, I'm a sucker for long shots, so here's the deal. If Makanna wins, you gotta take a week off from this silence malarkey. No TV show, no video games, no novels, nothing. Zilch. You quit it, cold turkey."

"I fail to see the relevance of refrigerated poultry-"

"Never mind." McCoy silenced him with a raised index finger. "If, on the other hand, T'Sel takes this one, I will participate fully and willingly in _any_ silence activity you name. Deal?" He extended his hand towards the Vulcan.

Spock studied McCoy's hand. "I know you, Doctor. You would not make such an offer if you believed the final result would be in my favor. Why do you believe Makanna will prevail?"

"Well, for starters, she's young, so she probably has a lot more stamina; she's also likely a student of the latest training techniques and strategic maneuvers…" McCoy shook his head. "I can't even believe we're even _having_ this conversation. So, are you in or out?"

Spock thought for a moment. "I am willing to triumph," he finally said, shaking McCoy's hand, "although I do feel as though I am taking advantage of your unfamiliarity with the sport."

McCoy laughed. "You don't seem very sure of yourself. 'I am willing to triumph'," he repeated sarcastically. "You just want _me_ to shut up, don't you?"

"To quote an old Earth expression, I plead the fifth." Spock returned his attention to the screen.

"Of course you do." McCoy drew his legs up and sat tailor-style on the corner of the couch. "Your turn. What's T'Sel got that her opponent lacks?"

"There is something to be said for the time-honored methods, however many advances may be made in the field of silentics. T'Sel trained with the masters of R'Fiera for many years. Makanna, on the other hand, is primarily self-taught. As I am sure you are aware, one cannot gain knowledge exclusively from books."

"True." McCoy took another drink of ginger ale. "Some of the most effective remedies I've seen on the planets we've visited are stored right up here," he noted, tapping his forehead with one finger, "passed down through the ages, from parent to child." He fisted his hands and pumped them up and down. "Come on, Makanna! Think silence!"

" As you have previously stated, Doctor, there is no benefit to encouraging someone who can neither hear you, nor be aware of your existence or support. Moreover, it is both ironic and illogical to _cheer_ on a silence athlete."

"Sorry." McCoy zipped his lips. "Go Makanna!" he mouthed, cupping his hands around his mouth.

Spock shook his head.

McCoy rolled his eyes, then glanced at the screen, grinning. "Better get ready for a week of color and sound, Spock. I think I just saw T'Sel's lower lip twitch."

Spock frowned, not looking at McCoy. "I noticed nothing."

"Of course you didn't." McCoy's eyes crinkled. "Keep watching. Maybe she'll do it again." He pointed at the woman's face on the screen. "See? Right there!"

"It was not a twitch, Leonard. Somebody disturbed the camera. That is all." Spock's frown deepened.

"Sure. You keep telling yourself that." McCoy folded his arms behind his head and relaxed, closing his eyes. "I'll just be over here enjoying _my_ trium-"

A low growl sounded, followed by the gong. " _What's this?"_ the announcer interjected. " _Yes, it appears that we have our victor."_

Spock's eyebrows rose. "Ah." He pointed to the screen, where Makanna, hand over her abdominal area, stepped back into the shadows, her face tinged green. T'Sel stood motionless, regarding her opponent's retreating form with a faint hint of approval.

McCoy sat up quickly. "What happened? No!"

" _Indeed_. _T'Sel! Makanna's digestion has betrayed her at last,"_ the announcer continued breathlessly. _"And T'Sel will advance to the next round. We will return after a brief intermission."_

Spock turned off the screen. "It would seem that my certainty was well founded. I have indeed triumphed, Doctor."

"Oh, come on. That doesn't count and you know it!" McCoy spread his hands apart. "Her stomach growled. She probably hadn't eaten in several hours. You can't just shut off your digestive system by flipping a switch, Vulcan or no."

"She knew the rules when she entered the competition," Spock countered, fingers tented together. "Additionally, there _are_ fasting techniques one can employ, assuming one is familiar with ancient wisdom, like T'Sel."

"Don't rub it in. Fine. You were right and I was _wrong_. Bet you never thought you'd hear me say _that_ out loud."

"Indeed I did not. Nevertheless, that does not release you from your obligation to comply with our agreed-upon terms."

"Aww…Spock…" McCoy shut his eyes and kneaded his forehead, groaning.

"As I recall, _you_ were the one who suggested a wager, not I. One in which you promised that if you lost, you would " _participate fully and willingly_ " in any silence activity I chose." Spock eyed him with a serious expression.

"I know, I know." McCoy waved his hand at Spock. "I only have myself and a hungry lady Vulcan to blame. Me and my big mouth. Maybe a bit of silence _would_ do me good." He covered his face with both hands. "All right, what do I have to do? Compete in an amateur silence tournament? Binge-watch all eighteen seasons of the show? Write a silent epic poem?"

Spock shook his head. "Not in your present frame of mind. I was thinking of something less taxing. As you know, opening night for the musical is at hand. While it is too late to secure a part, I was hoping that you would attend the performance."

McCoy let out a long, deep sigh. "Can't I just write the poem instead?"


	19. The Sound of Silence

McCoy took his ticket out of his pocket and handed it to the young crewwoman seated at a table just outside the ship's auditorium. A sign standing next to her read _Contemplative Silence: The Musical_ in Federation Standard and Vulcan. "Here you go, Nicole. Got any good seats still available?"

The brunette systems technician stamped McCoy's ticket and handed it back to him, along with a program whose cover matched the sign. Her gaze flicked towards her computer screen. "Let's see..." She tapped her chin with one finger. "We still have some in row B, if you think-"

"He's with us." Kirk clapped his hand onto McCoy's shoulder as the doctor turned at the sound of his voice. He pointed his other thumb at Uhura, who nodded. Both were dressed semi-casually; Kirk in a light blue dress shirt and tan khakis, Uhura in a navy party dress with ruffled sleeves. "Row I, Bones," Kirk added as they headed in through the door.

"Jim. I didn't think you were coming." McCoy fell into step beside them. "Especially after we got those reports from HQ about Klingon activity in this sector. I kinda figured you'd want to be on the bridge, overseeing things."

"Yeah, well, the last reported sighting was three systems over, five days ago. The _Favor_ wasn't even sure whether it was legit or just sensor ghosting." Kirk held up his communicator, then slipped it into his pocket. "Besides, bridge crew'll alert me if anybody drops by to pay a social call."

"Right." McCoy nodded, then turned to Uhura, his brows quirking. "Aren't you supposed to be in the play? I know Jim's got a lot on his plate, but you're the director's _girlfriend_."

Uhura shook her head. "I've been swamped with department reviews lately." She smiled. "I did help a little with the costumes, though." She shrugged. "But I thought you hated _Contemplative Silence_." A knowing smile. "It's not too late to nip down to sickbay and catch something quick to get out of it, you know."

"I don't _hate_ it, exactly. I just don't understand his _obsession_ with it," McCoy explained. "As for suddenly coming down with something? For once in the history of the _Enterprise_ , everybody's suddenly _disgustingly_ healthy." He made a face. "Plus, there's that blasted bet I lost."

"Told you not to gamble with a Vulcan." Kirk laughed. "But no, you had to learn the hard way."

"Yeah, well, I think I'd still prefer writing poetry." McCoy stuffed his hands in his pockets. "So why row I? Didn't Spock save front row seats for his besties?"

Kirk shrugged. "Eh, he's got some kind of paranoia about playing favorites. You should really talk to him about that. Don't worry, though; you ought to have a pretty good view of the backdrop you worked on from there."

McCoy snorted. "What's to see? All I did was apply the first two coats of paint. Spock obliterated my fine work with a third layer overtop that." He glanced down the rows of seats, looking for I.

Uhura poked McCoy in the arm. "Which he wouldn't have _had_ to do if you hadn't painted all those curlicues, hearts, and squiggles on the canvas." She moved past him down the aisle, stepping sideways to avoid bumping into other crewmembers who had already taken their seats.

"And the happy faces," Kirk chimed in. "Don't forget the happy faces."

McCoy shrugged. "Hey, all he said was to paint it completely black. He didn't say anything about " _nice, even, uniform strokes_ " the first time," he mocked, raising an eyebrow.

"And then, after he told you to fix your mistake, you painted the entire thing over except for a single spot." Kirk shook his head. "Did you really think he, of all people, wouldn't notice?" He followed Uhura down their row, stopping in the middle and sitting down.

"Hoped, yes. Expected, no." McCoy sighed, dropping into his chair, smiling to himself. "But I showed him, all right. Heh, heh, heh."

Uhura glanced up at his evil laugh, her expression inquisitive, but said nothing.

Kirk frowned, but his eyes twinkled. "What'd you do?"

McCoy folded his arms behind his head and sat back, grinning. "While he was inspecting Jarvis's costume, I took a single drop of white paint and mixed it into the black paint can."

Kirk mockingly covered his mouth with one hand. "You _didn't_."

"Yep."

"And he hasn't asked you about it?"

"Nope. I don't even think he noticed."

"Then what's the point?" Uhura asked. "If you're trying to annoy Spock, don't you want him to know what you did?"

"The way I see it," McCoy reasoned, "if he _had_ noticed, it would really bug him, and therefore I win. But if he _doesn't_ , then I got something past him, ergo, I win anyway. Frankly, I can't decide which one I like better."

Uhura shook her head. " _Mean_."

"You're a lot badder than people give you credit for, Bones." Kirk smiled, elbowing him in the ribs. "Tsk, tsk. Gaslighting a Vulcan."

"Shh. Don't tell Starfleet Medical about this, 'kay?" McCoy muttered furtively, one finger over his lips. "I could lose my license to practise."

Uhura began writing on the palm of one hand with her index finger. "'Dear Ethics Committee...'" she began, the barest hint of a smile curving her lips upward.

McCoy flicked her writing hand aside. "Ha, ha." He stood up and glanced around the room. Large enough for a crowd three quarters the size of _Enterprise_ 's crew complement, the walls of the auditorium could be moved upward to allow for extra seating on either side, should the need arise. Most of the seats were filled by members of the crew, while others loitered in the aisles, talking in small groups. Some were dressed in their duty uniforms, others in casual attire. Two engineering officers wearing orange jumpsuits huddled in the back corner, discussing something with animated gestures. One had a helmet on the floor by his boots.

He turned towards the stage. Two pairs of feet were barely visible underneath the bottom of the curtain. One moved slowly from one side to the other; a moment later, the second pair scurried after the first, rustling the curtain.

Moments later, the lights dimmed, leaving everyone in darkness. Audience members settled into their seats, the volume of their conversations diminishing. McCoy lowered himself into his chair as the curtains parted and Spock stepped forward, hands folded behind his back. He wore a black robe with a hood. "Thank you for attending _Contemplative Silence: The Musical_."

"Get a load of that costume," McCoy muttered under his breath to his seatmates. "All that's missing is the sickle."

"Everyone involved has worked very hard over these past few weeks..." Spock's eyes scanned the audience until he met McCoy's gaze, mouth tightening ever so slightly. "... despite some _minor_ setbacks. The play shall commence in two minutes. We hope you will enjoy the performance. Thank you." He nodded his head once and disappeared through the curtain.

"He knows," Kirk whispered.

"How do you-ow!" McCoy jolted forward in his seat as somebody bumped into it, dropping his program on the floor. He groaned and rubbed the small of his back, reaching for the program, and then turned in his seat, frowning at those responsible. "Hey! Watch it!"

Three individuals glared at him with angry expressions. One of them growled something unintelligible, then laughed raucously, pointing at McCoy. He elbowed the others, who joined in.

"Yeah, same to you." McCoy frowned as the three of them sat down with a loud _thud_ , talking amongst themselves. He gripped the arms of his chair. "Just wait until the lights come back on..."

"Leonard. Hush. It's starting." Uhura pointed to the stage just as the curtains parted. A soft, barely perceptible light glowed from above, just enough to allow it to be seen by the audience. Two black trees stood tall on either side against the black backdrop, while several large black stones were grouped together in between them. One of them began to stretch upwards, and it became apparent that it was in fact a black-robed man who had been crouching there. The performer bounded to the front of the stage, his feet making no sound as he mouthed words.

He was joined by an identically clad woman who leapt up and began to dance around him, playing on a flute that made no sound. She moved the instrument from her lips and extended one hand backwards, the other reaching for his outstretched one. They danced together for several moments as other performers tiptoed around behind them, then everyone froze in place. The audience applauded, some of them standing to their feet. Spock pulled the curtain back on one side and glared at everyone until they gradually hushed. Relieved, he disappeared behind the curtain again. For several seconds, everyone seemed to hold their breath. Kirk cleared his throat ever so slightly, but even that could be heard over the otherwise deafening silence.

"Boooooo!" McCoy hissed quietly. A hand slapped him on the left cheek with a loud _crack_! "Ow!" he howled. Still holding his stinging cheek, McCoy glanced over at Uhura.

She raised a finger to her lips. "Shh," she whispered.

The three men sitting behind them began guffawing. Uhura pinned them with an annoyed look. "That goes for you, too. Sit still and _shut up_." They leaned back in their seats, grumbling quietly to each other.

McCoy returned his attention to the play. Spock and the man, whom he now recognized as one of his medical aides, stood on opposite sides of the stage, apparently engaged in a silent heated argument. The scene quickly escalated into a physical fight that was augmented by several performers, including Chekov, who were observing the spectacle with a mixture of amusement and disapproval. Musicians stood to the side, playing silent string instruments, their intensity increasing as the tension grew.

McCoy glanced at his seatmates. Uhura followed the movements of the dancers with her eyes, while Kirk seemed more preoccupied with trying to read the lips of Spock and his co-combatant, whispering silently along with them. Three aisles ahead of them, Scotty slung his arm over the shoulders of his female companion, who leaned into him.

The scene ended. The audience stood and clapped, quieter this time. After a moment, McCoy joined them. "I'll give him this," he whispered to Kirk, "he's one heck of a mime."

* * *

The intermission came and went without turning on the lights. Most audience members remained in their seats for the duration.

As the performance progressed, the three rowdy audience members seated behind McCoy seemed to calm down. Their critical laughter gave way to noises of approval and even admiration.

In between scenes midway through the second half, McCoy nudged Uhura. "I think our hecklers are actually enjoying the show. And I was this-" he pinched his fingers together "-close to asking security to escort them out."

" _I_ was this close to asking you to test their blood alcohol level," Uhura admitted.

Forty minutes later, the final scene ended with a big closing number in which all of the performers engaged in silent contemplation as one. Everyone rose to their feet as the curtains closed, clapping silently, as though they didn't wish to disturb the moment. The curtain opened again, revealing all of the performers, who bowed in unison, then walked off the stage in a line. The lights turned on and the audience began to leave their seats, the volume of their speech steadily increasing.

McCoy stretched his arms over his head. "That was really something."

Uhura peered over the heads of the other crew. "I'm going to go congratulate Spock. Want to come along?"

Kirk smiled, exiting the aisle sideways behind her. "Sure. Gotta get my name on the sign-up list for his next production. I can be as quiet as the next guy shut up Bones."

McCoy's lips quirked. "I'll be there in a moment. I have someone to apologize to first." He spun around and came face to face with the business end of a Starfleet issue phaser rifle.

"All right, you," Hendorff growled, a frown on his face. "Put the weapons down. Hands on your head. No tricks." He glanced to his right, his expression softening, but his grip on his handheld phaser never wavering. "Stallings, does Dr. McCoy look like a Klingon to you?"

The redheaded man moved his rifle away from the doctor. "Sorry, Doc." He pointed it at one of the hecklers instead. "Do as he said." Several security officers stood behind them, weapons raised.

"Klingons?" Uhura stopped at the end of the aisle. "What Klingons?"

McCoy spun around. Standing behind him were three Klingon officers, lips set in a grim line, their handheld weapons raised. One of them had a _bat'leth_ slung over his shoulder.

"You heard my officers. Drop the weapons. _Now._ " Kirk planted his feet apart and stood his ground, glaring at the one who appeared to be the leader. He nodded and made eye contact with each of his subordinates, and they lowered their weapons onto their seats. The captain nodded to Hendorff, who directed his men to arrest the Klingons.

* * *

"It would appear, then, that the _Favor_ 's initial readings were indeed accurate." Spock glanced around the briefing room, sipping at his tea. "How did they get aboard ship?"

"Exploited a weakness in our shields, which Mr. Scott assures me he has since corrected," Kirk replied, taking a bite out of a buttered bagel. "Beamed aboard after determining where most of the crew were concentrated. My guess is they wanted to make sure we were otherwise occupied before heading up to the bridge to seize control of the ship."

"But..." Spock began.

"But, they decided to stay for the show instead," McCoy finished, stirring cream and sugar into his coffee.

"They're cooling their heels in the brig right now. We'll drop them and that ship of theirs off at Starbase 23 before continuing on to the succession ceremony on Timorius VII." Kirk laughed. "Our guests made me promise not to tell their commanding officer about their lapse of duties. Said it would damage their honor."

"Thwarted by _Contemplative Silence._ " McCoy sighed. "Apparently they found it as enthralling as you do. Which I'll _never_ understand."

Spock tented his fingers together. "Actually, I believe it was the combat scenes which intrigued them the most. The Klingon culture is quite martial, as you'll recall."

McCoy lifted his cup to his mouth and drank some, lowering it again. "Silent combat," he scoffed, counting on his fingers, "silent music, silent dialogue, silent _everything_. If I'd closed my eyes, I would have missed the whole show." He leaned forward. "Why didn't you tell the audience to clap silently while you were at it? Wouldn't their noise have disturbed the mood, unsettled the performers?"

Spock nodded. "Yes, that troubled me." He pushed his tea cup aside. "But not nearly as much as having to re-paint your backdrop did."

McCoy's mouth dropped open. "I-you-" he stammered. "You _what_?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Although the difference in shades was subtle, it _was_ noticeable." He regarded Leonard with a stern look. "In the future, I would greatly prefer the outright confrontation which is your forte to such passive-aggressive tactics. Really, Doctor, it is most beneath you."

McCoy gritted his teeth together. "Confound it, Spock!" he barked. "You're _unbelievable_ , you know that?!"

Spock nodded in approval. "Yes. Like so."

"Told you he knew," Kirk whispered, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.


	20. Food For Contemplation

"Hello. I reserved a table for two under the name of McCoy." Leonard smiled at the maitre'd, who nodded and studied his reservation screen. Looking over the Andorian's head, he scanned the various tables in the restaurant. Most were occupied by couples, but a few tables had been pushed together to allow larger parties to occupy them. All of the patrons he could see were dressed in formal wear, but the mood was lighter than their attire. Laughter came from the direction of the front windows, while a balcony at the back attracted many who wanted a view of Geisanat's trio of moons in an almost equilateral triangular alignment, a phenomenon which occurred every three and a half Earth months.

"Ah yes, Mr. McCoy, table seventeen. Allow me to escort you." The man sidestepped from behind his console, menus tucked under his arm. "Right this way," he added, pointing an antenna to his left, then turning and moving in that direction.

McCoy followed the man up a ramp that led to a raised deck surrounded by a railing, then to an empty table on the right, where he was seated and handed his menu. The maitre'd placed the other menu on the opposite side of the table, then brought a pitcher of water and basket of bread to the table, setting it down in the middle. "Would you like to order now, or wait for your companion?"

"I'll wait." McCoy nodded, adjusting his cufflinks with precision. "Thanks."

The Andorian's antennae flattened out from side to side in lieu of a bow, and he turned, moving back towards his console. McCoy reached for the crystal pitcher and poured himself a glassful. He had just lifted the glass to his lips when his communicator rang. "No rest for the weary," he sighed, removing the comm from his pocket and flipping it open. "911, what's your emergency?" he drawled, exasperation and amusement in his voice.

"Hey, Len." The woman on the other end of the call stifled a yawn. "No emergency. Just a case of exhaustion and a _splitting_ headache."

"You're probably just hungry, Bree." McCoy leaned back in his chair, glancing over at the door.

Tired laughter. "So you're diagnosing people long-distance now. Doesn't that go against the oath you took?"

"I don't think so." He checked the time. 2013 hours. "How many minutes away are you?"

A pause. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but this is the part where you tell me to stay home and get some rest, maybe take something for the pain."

"If you were my patient, then yes." McCoy cleared his throat.

"Mm. Let's just say I _already_ told me to do that. It's been a crazy day at my school, filled with staff meetings, curriculum review, parent-teacher conferences - teleconferences, mind you. Benita Alvarez's father called me from a relay station during his mid-night shift break, can you imagine?" A long yawn. "I don't think I've slept more than four hours at a time for a _week_."

"I know what that's like. Heck, it's practically in the job description."

"Yeah, I'll bet. Look, I'm really sorry about this, especially after cancelling our last two dates, but-"

McCoy laid the comm on his table and took a sip of his water. "Look, it's alright, Bree. Remember what you said you were going to do? Well, go ahead and do it, and take the next day off, too. Doctor's orders. I'll even write you a note."

A chuckle. "Long-distance prescriptions, too."

"Well, I usually like to be a _little_ closer to my patients, but a couple of moons over isn't that far, relatively speaking."

"Soooo...rain check again?"

"Sure, I guess. We'll be back in this system in a week, if all goes according to plan, but I can't promise it will. The _Enterprise_ and all."

"I've heard the stories. See you maybe, Len. Good night." She ended the call.

McCoy flipped his comm closed and stuffed it in his pocket. Sighing, he drained his glass of water and opened the menu, studying his options. Several different dishes from various parts of the galaxy were listed in fancy calligraphy. He made a face at one of the images, a plate of what looked like a stuffed animal intestine overflowing with burgundy leaves.

"Leonard, I _thought_ that was you." He looked over the top of the menu. Uhura smiled at him, her onyx and incrulite earrings bobbing back and forth. She wore a deep purple gown accented by silver trim. "Spock?" The Vulcan was standing next to a four-chaired table across the deck, clad in a black tuxedo with a white bow tie. He paused in pulling out a chair for his absent girlfriend and looked in their direction, his expression confused, as though he had not realized she had slipped away so quickly.

Leaving the chair, he crossed the room until he was standing at Uhura's side. "You were over there," he deadpanned.

"Yes, and now I'm over _here_." Uhura tugged on Spock's tie slightly, causing the Vulcan to reach up and re-adjust it. "Leave that table for someone else. We'll eat with Leonard."

Spock indicated the empty chair. "Leonard already _has_ a dining companion." His posture remained ramrod straight.

" _Had_. She couldn't make it." McCoy pushed back his chair, beginning to stand. "As a matter of fact, I probably oughta call it a night mys-"

Uhura placed her hand on his shoulder and shoved him back down. "Nothing doing, Doctor. Spock, get one of those chairs and bring it over here." She gave McCoy a stern look. "You're going to eat with us, like it or not. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am." McCoy leaned forward, pointing over his shoulder at Spock, who was carrying a chair in their direction, his lips pressed in a firm line. "I think Spock wants to be alone with you."

"Whatever gave you that idea?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "We're _always_ dating alone, and every time I try to get Spock to go on a double date, he always makes up some reason why he can't go." She sighed in mock disappointment. "I guess you'll have to do."

"Well, I'll _try_ to be fun enough for two people," McCoy pouted.

"That's the spirit."

Spock set the chair down next to McCoy, then pulled it back. "Nyota, allow me to seat you."

Uhura pulled out what would have been Bree's chair instead and sat down in it, smiling at her date.

Spock frowned and lowered himself into the third chair, pulling it close to the table. "Leonard," he muttered, not looking at McCoy, "it appears you have company for dinner this evening, after all."

"Looks that way." He passed Spock his menu and saluted crisply. "Third wheel McCoy, reporting for crowd duty, sir."

Spock shook his head, mouth tightening. "If you are endeavoring to be amusing in the hopes that it will improve my mood, I can disabuse you of that notion _immediately_."

Uhura swatted him on the arm. "Spock! Behave." She leaned over the table and smiled apologetically at McCoy. "I can explain. He was hoping not to run into anybody we knew tonight."

"Ah. I get it. It was supposed to be a hot date, am I right?" McCoy puckered his lips.

Uhura looked away, her cheeks flushing slightly as she fought the urge to smile or laugh.

Spock blinked. "That is none of your concern. But if you must satisfy your curiosity, I was hoping we would not be disturbed by ship's business for one night. A desire I know you share, as I have heard you express your frustration frequently, loudly, and quite...ahem... _colorfully."_ Spock set down his menu and placed both hands palms down on the table.

McCoy shrugged. "You should've known better than to pick Ashourio, then, Spock. I've heard it's one of the most popular restaurants in this system. Hikaru told me that Rear Admiral Inek makes a point of eating here every time her flagship passes through the sector."

" _I_ picked the restaurant." Uhura adjusted one of her earrings and deflected Spock's look of annoyance with an innocent expression. "But not because of its popularity with the admiralty, or anyone else, for that matter."

"And she was quite insistent we eat here _tonight_ , despite the fact that we will be docked here for two more days, and back in seven from the cargo run." Spock's eyes scanned the menu. "Our lack of a reservation and your presence here naturally leads me to wonder if this was arranged by the two of you." He looked back and forth between them, trying to gauge whether he was correct or not. Neither one blinked, and he broke eye contact with a quiet huff.

"You can put that notion right out of your head," McCoy assured him, shaking his head. "If it's a trap, it's caught both of us. My date called it off at the last minute. If you hadn't shown up, I'd have gone back to the ship, spent the night in my quarters with a root beer and a cheeseburger."

"You poor, lonely soul," Uhura tsked. Don't worry; I'm not trapping anyone," she insisted. "In fact, I have a surprise for you, Spock, which I think you'll like." She placed her hand on his, smiling up at him. "But I'm not sure how you'll feel about it, Leonard," she added, apprehension in her tone as she turned her gaze on McCoy.

McCoy frowned slightly. "Feel about what?"

Spock raised both eyebrows, his interest piqued. "Do tell, Nyota." He glanced at McCoy, the left side of his lip curling upwards.

"Sorry." Uhura held a finger to her lips, her expression revealing nothing. "You'll have to wait and see. Now, what does everybody want? I think I'll have..."

* * *

"And for you, sir, the scalloped _rintissa_ grass pods." The waiter set down a plate of blue vegetables covered in a creamy amber sauce at Spock's place setting.

"Thank you," Spock replied, grabbing his table napkin and shaking it out on his lap.

"Mmm," McCoy breathed, closing his eyes, "this smells _wonderful_." He sighed with contentment, then reached for his fork.

"Doesn't it?" Uhura agreed, leaning forward to inhale the aroma of her roast salmon and wild rice dish.

"Uh-uh-uh," the waiter tsked, causing the three of them to meet his gaze. "The experience shall commence in two minutes, sirs, ma'am."

"Yes, of course." Uhura placed her hand over Spock's just as he opened his mouth to take the first bite of his meal, causing him to lower it again to his plate. The waiter nodded to her and pivoted towards the table where Spock had planned to sit, turning his attention to the family now seated there. A small child missing one of her two front teeth grabbed a piece of bread from the basket and gnawed on it.

McCoy dropped the forkful of pasta with a clatter and frowned at Uhura. "What experience?" He picked up the fork again and began playing with his food, idly pushing it back and forth across the surface of his dish. "Is this the part I'm not going to like?"

Spock regarded her with confusion, but she just smiled at the two of them. "You'll see. Or rather, you _won't_."

"What's that supposed to mean?" McCoy set his fork down just as the room descended into darkness. "Hey, what happened to the lights?"

"Sensory deprivation," Uhura replied. "Every second Wednesday, Ashourio patrons eat for two hours in the dark. It's supposed to enhance your other senses and enable you to enjoy your meal in a whole new way." She lifted her champagne glass to her lips and took a sip. "Think of it as a science experiment."

"Why doesn't anybody ever tell me these things until it's too late to say no?" McCoy chuckled drily. "Oh, well, I'm game if you are. I'll try not to stick my fork in my eye-"

"-Ew-"

"-or drop any noodles down my shirtfront-"

"-any sudden moves, and you'll be _fi_ -"

" _Please_." Spock's voice interrupted. "I am trying to contemplate, and your clamor is not helping." He closed his eyes. "I would like to apologize for my earlier rudeness, Nyota. If I had known you had arranged for a contemplative silence session, I would have been more amenable to sharing our evening with the doctor."

"Contem-" McCoy coughed. "Contemplative silence? _Here_?"

Uhura put her hand on Spock's arm. "Spock, that _wasn't_ my intention. I mean, yes, I _thought_ of silence when I heard about this experience, but that's _not_ what it's for." She extended an arm in the direction of the other patrons, snippets of whose conversations were audible in the background. "Everybody else is talking while they eat. I-"

Spock straightened in his chair, ignoring her, silent as death.

"Leave him be, Nyota." McCoy stabbed his noodles with his fork and stuffed them in his mouth. "If he wants to play statue while his _rintissa_ gets stone cold, that's _his_ problem. I'm _starving_." He swallowed and washed his food down with a mouthful of champagne, then patted his lips with his napkin.

"Fine." Uhura rolled her eyes, shrugged, and picked up her fork and knife. Holding the salmon fillet in place with the fork, she began to cut through it. Stabbing a bite-sized portion, she brought it to her lips and ate it as quietly as possible, rolling it around in her mouth thoughtfully. "Spicy," she mouthed. She then lowered the utensil to her plate ever so slowly and captured a forkful of rice with it. As she did so, a single tine tapped her plate.

Spock's eyes popped open, his brows raised. "The sound of your fork-"

" _Spock!_ " Uhura sighed in exasperation, dropping her fork with a dull clatter on the tablecloth. She lowered her chin to her hand, eyes closed, shaking her head. "All I want to do is eat dinner, like a normal person. What's the matter with that?" She threw her hands up in the air. "We're in a restaurant, after all. Isn't that the _whole_ idea of..." Her voice trailed off.

McCoy patted her shoulder, smiling. "There, there." He shot a glance at Spock, who appeared to be ignoring them with increased concentration, then took Uhura's hand in his and shook it. "Welcome to the club."


	21. Checkmate

Tablet tucked under his arm, McCoy side-stepped through the sliding doors of the conference room, carrying a large plastic tub. He shifted the weight of the container as he moved towards the long table. "Donuts are here, everybody. Don't worry, Jim, half of them are the ones you like with sprink-" He paused next to an empty swivel chair, one of several surrounding the similarly empty table.

Setting down the donuts, he spied a single occupied chair at the far end of the table. Spock sat there, intensely studying a three-dimensional chess board. A tablet and stylus sat next to his right elbow, while the chair across from him was slightly pulled out from the table.

McCoy opened the tub and selected a jelly donut, letting the lid drop closed. He moved down the length of the table until he was standing behind the Vulcan. Taking a bite of his donut, he leaned forward and studied the chess board. "You're losing," he remarked with his mouth full.

"Indeed," Spock agreed. "My opponent is most challenging." He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands. "Would you care to observe?"

"Sure," McCoy agreed, pulling out the chair at the head of the table and sitting down. "Where's Jim?" he asked, pointing over his shoulder at the other door. "Did I just miss him on my way in?"

"I have not seen or spoken with him since 0934 this morning. As the staff meeting is not for-" He checked the time on his tablet "-an hour and three minutes, that is hardly unusual." He cleared his throat. "Your presence, on the other hand, is curious. It has been my experience that you prefer to delay your departure from sickbay as long as possible, unless you are... _required_ on the bridge." An eyebrow raised in question.

"About that." McCoy took another bite of his donut. "Our personnel officer scheduled a career advancement seminar today for the medical department. Sickbay's a ghost town right now. I figured I'd head on down here and see what's what." He frowned. "Who _are_ you playing against, if not Jim?"

Spock regarded McCoy with a look of confusion. "I do not recall denying that Jim was my opponent, Doctor."

"Well, no, not directly, but you did say you hadn't seen him in over four hours." A smile curved McCoy's lips. "Don't tell me he's had you stumped ever since."

"The thought amuses you, Leonard, but I am afraid I must disappoint-ah." Spock picked up the queen and moved it to the next level. "As I was saying, I _am_ playing against Jim, in a sense." He swiveled his chair to face McCoy. "Over the years that I have known him, I have become rather familiar with his style of play. So much so, in fact, that it is entirely possible for me to play his moves in addition to my own." He stood and crossed to the other side of the room, perching on the edge of "Jim"'s chair and frowning. "Like so," he added, reaching for a white knight and setting it down next to one of the black pawns. "A quick strike that will shortly prove to be a fatal mistake."

"Naturally, given the personal bias of his proxy." McCoy stuffed the rest of the donut into his mouth. He licked the powdered sugar from his fingers, then wiped them on his pants. "It's an improvement, but not by much."

"An improvement over what?"

" _Nothing_." McCoy stood up, his hands braced against the table. "You know, I can't remember the last time I saw you play chess, or your lute, or pretty much anything that didn't involve _Contemplative Silence_. I mean, I'm sure there's plenty of both in the game of chess, but still." He smiled. "It's nice to see you doing normal people things again." He shook his head. "Relatively speaking. Does Jim know about this?"

"I..." Spock glanced away for a split second. "The subject has never come up in any of our conversations." His face flushed slightly. Pushing back "Jim"'s chair, he moved around the table again.

"Don't worry. I'll keep my silence." McCoy moved his fingers across his lips in a zipping motion, then leaned back in his seat, arms folded behind his head. "When you're finished creaming our captain in absentia, I'd be happy to play a game with you." He tugged on his collar and closed his eyes. "Don't mean to brag, but I learned a few gambits in med school that-"

"Checkmate." Spock moved the final piece into position. "Actually, Doctor, I was hoping to speak to you before the meeting." He indicated the tablet beside him. "I would like your opinion on something."

McCoy narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as Spock pushed the tablet towards him. "My medical opinion, or my personal one?" No reply. McCoy picked up the tablet and tapped the screen twice. A document appeared. "'Personal Improvements Checklist'," he read aloud. "'The following is a list of missed and attainable opportunities for personal and professional growth.' Sounds suspiciously like something outta that snoozefest I came up here to _avoid_."

Spock folded his hands. "As you know, it is customary to take the measure of oneself at regular intervals. While official evaluations are conducted on a regular basis, they can be somewhat lacking in scope. I therefore took it upon myself to create a more in-depth analysis." He leaned forward. "I would greatly appreciate your feedback on this project, including any suggestions you might have for areas I've overlooked."

McCoy chuckled. "Are you sure you want to ask _me_?" he queried, placing a hand over his heart. "I'm not exactly an unbiased observer, y'know."

Spock nodded. "I am aware of that. I would not have asked you if I thought you wholly incapable of setting your personal proclivities aside."

"Okay, then. Let's see what New Year's resolutions you've got here." McCoy scanned the list quickly. "'Be more silent.'" He rolled his eyes. "Naturally. 'Focus more when contemplating, longer periods of-'...okay, these aren't all silence-related, are they?" McCoy blew out a puff of air. "Because if they are, I'd add 'find a new hobby' and 'see a psychiatrist' to the top."

"They are not. Read the _entire_ list and see for yourself ."

McCoy studied the column next to the list. Some were checked off, while others had stars next to them. "'Develop a more positive outlook. Consider the opinions of others. Be more tolerant of foreign cultural practices. '" He nodded. "Very nice." He scrolled down to the bottom of the list. "'Day 1: Subject participated in a cooperative activity. Displayed significant hostility towards thematic elements and activity leader. After correction was administered, subject lessened hostile behavior and completed the activity with some frustration. Am hopeful that the next session will show improvement. Day 2: Subject provoked by honest appraisal of qualifications for accompanying away team. Commentary on appraiser's intelligence delivered, with lack strongly implied. Third party intervention successfully resulted in acquiescence without further incident. Must study further the methods employed for diffusing ire.'" McCoy's brows lowered. "What is this? Some kind of field study journal? It's awful cold and sterile for a self-evaluation. Oh, wait, that's right." He spread his hands out palms upward toward the Vulcan.

Spock's lips pressed together at the implication. " _Self_ -evaluation? I am not the subject in question, Doctor." He placed on hand on the tablet. "As you can see, the stardate for Day 2 corresponds with our visit to Iota Cyrinus IV."

"Oh, yeah. Don't remind me." McCoy pushed his chair back and strode towards the donut bin. He popped open the lid and selected a chocolate one, then picked up the bin, carried it to the other end of the table, and sat down. "Nothing but sand, as far as the eye can see, except for a solitary Starfleet outpost staffed with three unlucky stiffs who just happened to require their regular medical evaluations. If it hadn't been for that blasted fever, we could've just beamed 'em up here or sent one of my residents." He placed the bin on the table to his right and took a bite of the donut. "I thought Scanlon was just tired from sitting up with his computers all night. He looked healthy enough on the transmission." A sigh. "It was probably a good thing I _did_ go. A physician with less experience might not have recognized the significance of the slight enzymatic imbalance. They probably owe you their lives for insisting that I-" McCoy stopped mid-sentence, his face twisting into a look of disbelief, then anger. "This list is for _ME_?!" He tightened his fist around the donut, squishing it between his fingers, his breathing rapid. " _I'M_ 'Subject'?! You're studying me like a lab rat?" Crumbs of donut sprayed out of his mouth.

Spock nodded. "Initially, this experiment was intended to be a series of observations in which I recorded instances of aberrant behavior and your subsequent attempts to self-correct. However, I found myself intervening so often that it became pointless to attempt to merely observe and report; instead, I offered suggestions where I could, and noted your responses, positive and negative. Overall, you appear to be trending upwards, apart from a slight downturn one week ago." He closed his eyes. "As I recall, 'Subject appears to have latent disregard for authority. Linguistic skills in evidence during emotional outburst, particularly regional vernacular and crude metaphorical terms, suggesting self-medication. To subject's credit, self-control maintained until removed from the object of ire's presence.'"

"Well, excuse me, but said 'object of ire', aka Governor Maynard, is a pompous windbag. The nerve of him refusing help from Starfleet because of a decades-old charter that's _barely_ legal, while his people shiver in the cold and go hungry!"

Spock's eyebrow raised. "However satisfying you deem it to be, there are far better ways to vent one's frustrations than to become intoxicated and create a hologram duplicate of an individual for the express purpose of engaging in fisticuffs."

McCoy slapped the tabletop, leaving chocolate smears behind. "And there are _also_ better ways to help a friend than writing him a laundry list of faults for the express purpose of antagonizing him!" He indicated the tablet. "You know, I never thought the day would come when I'd actually _encourage_ you to engage in _Contemplative Silence_ , but I'd really rather you stared at nothing instead of sitting around _analyzing_ my behavior." He threw up his hands, then covered his face with them. "Good grief, Spock."

Spock reached for the tablet and pressed the record button. "'Day 43: Subject confronted with the preliminary results of the experiment. Initial frustration followed by a reversal of opinion re: contemplative silence. Subject finds silence favorable in comparison with continued covert study and manipulation of subject. All indications point toward experiment's success. End recording." He slid the tablet sideways and folded his hands on the table.

"Would you mind explaining that in plain English for the benefit of the 'subject'?" McCoy looked down at the chocolate stain, frowning.

Spock nodded. "If you will recall, I stated what the experiment was intended to consist of, not which hypothesis I set out to prove." He stood and began to remove the chess pieces from the board. "My aim was not overall behavioral modification, but rather to bring about a more favorable opinion of _Contemplative Silence_." He turned to McCoy, the white bishop in his left hand, and reached for a honey cruller with his right. "As you can see, I have accomplished that very thing." Spock took a bite of the donut and looked McCoy right in the eye. "Checkmate."

McCoy lowered his head onto the tabletop and grabbed handfuls of his hair in both hands, moaning. "I _hate_ being a pawn."


	22. The Quiet of Letar

Leonard materialized in the middle of a crowded intersection, one hand resting on his hip. He jumped out of the way as a bicycle sped past on one side, then stepped to the side to avoid three teenage girls who were chattering excitedly in an alien language. Crossing the street in five quick strides, he leaned against a lamp post to catch his breath, then pulled out his comm and flipped it open. "McCoy to transporter room. I got a hint for you, Bayliss; this planet happens to have several geosynchronous cartographic satellites. Try makin' use of them _before_ beaming a man down in the middle of traffic, hmm? Unless you want to bring him back in a _jar_."

The English transporter operator chuckled. "Really, Doctor, I set you down in the middle of a scramble. No eighteen wheelers, hovercars, or anything of the kind. Just foot traffic. You're perfectly safe."

"Ever heard of a stampede?" The yeasty scent of baked goods drifted out of an open doorway as McCoy continued past it, headed in a westerly direction. "Just tell me where you dropped off Commander Spock." He used one hand to shade his eyes, scrutinizing two Vulcans that were walking towards him, deep in conversation. The mustached one looked over his shoulder and shouted. A smaller figure parted the two and strode out in front of them, a curious expression on her face. McCoy followed her gaze and saw that a large tree lay fallen on the sidewalk across the street, its roots torn up from the ground.

"He asked to be deposited at Pelek Park, in the Vulcan quarter of the city, doctor. That's..." Two taps on a computer screen. "...roughly two kilometers south of your present location. I can send you there, or if you wish, there are several public transport booths, a local transit system, taxis..."

"I'll walk. Just text me the coordinates."

"Cheerio, Doctor. And a pleasant leave to you."

"Thanks, Art." McCoy ended the call. A few seconds later, a marker appeared on his tricorder's geolocator program, and he followed the map indicator down two winding streets, over a small footbridge, and then down a walking trail until he found himself in a small natural area criss-crossed by several gravel walkways. Reddish brown sand covered the open areas, dotted with various rock arrangements and small flowers that lay close to the ground. The park was mostly deserted, save for a city worker who bent over a small patch of green cacti, and two joggers, all Vulcans.

He found Spock kneeling behind a yellow bush at the edge of a small pond, studying the small purple fish that darted around just beneath the surface. "Well, I made it." McCoy came around to the other side of the pond until he was standing next to the Vulcan. "All in one piece."

"I expected nothing less." Spock straightened up, brushing dust from the knees of his pant legs. "Acquoya may attract visitors from all across the quadrant, but it has a reputation for being one of the safest settlements of its kind in the 23rd century." He clasped his hands behind his back.

McCoy gave a half-smile. "Well, actually, I was referring to the transporter, not the city, but..." He took a deep breath. "Ahh. Even the air is cleaner here." His shoulders relaxed. "I guess I owe my blood pressure one. If it hadn't registered on the high side of high this time, I'd still be in sickbay, bumping somebody _else_ up the shore leave waiting list."

Spock lifted an eyebrow. "I am curious as to how you expect it to return such a favor."

McCoy shook his head. "You got me. So," he continued, "Vulcan quarter, eh?" He gestured around at the buildings surrounding the park, which were designed in various Vulcan architectural styles, from Vuus contemporary to pre-Tonek revival. "Kinda like going back in time?"

"There are similarities," Spock agreed as they meandered down the trail leading out of the park's south gate. "Be that as it may, my reasons for visiting this section of the city go beyond mere nostalgia." He led McCoy to a transit stop just to the left of the exit. He leaned against the signpost. "I am in fact seeking the same thing you are; an opportunity for relaxation." The bus pulled up to the stop, and they boarded, passing their communicators in front of the reader. McCoy chose an aisle seat close to the middle of the vehicle, and Spock lowered himself into the window seat nearby.

As the bus moved away from the curb and began to head down the street, McCoy pocketed his communicator. "Relaxation? What? The park wasn't doing it for you?"

"While I found its landscaped setting to be restful, I had not planned to tarry long. I chose the park as a landing site chiefly because of its proximity to the transit line." Spock glanced away from the window. "Why did you seek me out? I was not expecting a companion."

"I'm a glutton for punishment." At Spock's frown, McCoy laughed. "Truth? I'm just killing time until Jim finishes some conference calls. He knows a couple of girls who live here now. We're going out to dinner together this evening, then catching a show." He rubbed the back of his neck. "At least, that's the plan, anyway. In the meantime, why don't you show me around the marketplace?" He placed one hand on his stomach. "I've got a hankering for _muhs-veer_ noodles all of a sudden."

"Perhaps later. My destination is close to the marketplace." They leaned slightly to one side as the bus turned a corner. "Though I have never visited this planet before, my membership grants me access to all the association's branches. I am also allowed to admit guests."

"Association?" McCoy glanced out the window at a passing hovercar. "You mean like a club?" At Spock's nod, he clapped the Vulcan on the back. "I remember my good old days with Astra Terra. If I wasn't getting into trouble, I was getting Jim _out_ of it."

Spock's mouth twitched. "You seem almost _fond_ of your days with the Academy's fraternity, given your usual dislike for trouble."

"Ah, you had to be there." McCoy leaned back in his seat and slung one arm over Spock's shoulder. "But you know what I'm talking about, right? Funny hats, crazy songs, and all the processed meat you can eat. Or carrot sticks, in your case," he amended. "'From the known, to the unknown, from the surface to the sky...'" he sang, his words trailing off as the bus came to a stop. Two passengers exited through the back door, shuffling past McCoy and giving him odd glances. Seven more boarded, all Vulcans save one Human male wearing a casual duty Starfleet uniform.

When they had seated themselves, the bus began moving forward again. Leonard shrugged. "Anthem." He looked away, lost in thought. "Those were the days. I wonder if they have a chapter here..."

"Doubtful. The only Academy facility I know of on Acquoya is an admissions office." Spock turned to face him. "In any event, you will find the Letar Society's activities have little in common with the sort of rowdy behavior you and Jim previously engaged in." He pulled out his tricorder and studied the screen. "The next stop is ours." Spock tapped a button on the wall of the bus, stood, and began to inch down the aisle.

McCoy got up and followed him to the back exit, arriving just as the bus slid to a halt. They stepped through the open doors onto a narrow sidewalk. McCoy glanced around at the houses nearby, flanked with ornamental sand arrangements. "Uh, Spock, you sure we're in the right place? These buildings all look residential to me."

"The Letar Society occupies what was once a private dwelling, Doctor. I believe a previous member bequeathed it to the association upon his demise." Spock stepped over what appeared to be a children's toy, some kind of vehicle with wheels. He lifted his hand and pointed at a large three storey townhouse with well-manicured vines that had been trained to grow on its stone walls. A flight of rounded steps led to a small porch; a short ramp to the right appeared to be a recent addition. Simple black letters against a gray backdrop proclaimed the building to indeed be the Acquoya chapter of the Letar Society.

As McCoy followed Spock up the stairs, his hand slid up the railing. He paused for a moment, cupping his hand to his ear. "When you said this place was _tame_ , you weren't kidding. I don't hear _anything_ ; no singing, laughing, screaming, or vomiting."

"Nor are you likely to, as I said previously." Spock arched an eyebrow. "Though you almost sound as if you were _hoping_ for cacophony and mayhem."

"Didn't say that." He reached the top and leaned against the porch rail, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "But, hey, if whatever you guys do in there calms my frayed nerves a little, I guess I can live with it." He moved out of Spock's way as the Vulcan stepped in front of the doorway and stood there, still for several seconds. "Aren't you going to knock?"

"We shall be admitted momentarily," Spock replied, his lips pressed closed. After about a minute, the door opened. A tall stoic Vulcan stood there, clad in black robes. He raised an eyebrow at McCoy, who returned the expression, then looked to Spock. The commander nodded, which seemed to satisfy the doorman; he stiffly swept to the side, allowing them access.

"Where-" McCoy began, stopping when Spock turned and held a finger to his lips. Spying a coatrack, he removed his light jacket and hung it up on one of the hooks. "Where are we going?" he whispered as they continued down a dark corridor.

Spock ignored the question, leading McCoy through a door to their left flanked by drawn drapes, into a large common room filled with black chairs and couches. Blackout curtains covered a massive window that would ordinarily have let in the sunlight at this time of day. Several Vulcans stood, sat and reposed in various areas of the room. A black tasseled carpet hosted several individuals who were staring at nothing in particular; another sat cross-legged on a stool in the corner reading something off of a tablet. Spock beckoned to McCoy as he took a seat on the closest chair, closing his eyes.

McCoy stomped into the room and pulled Spock up off his seat, dragging him out of the room, and to the right until they were both standing behind the door curtain. "You brought me to a _funeral parlour_?" he hissed. "I don't even know any of these people. What do I say? I feel like an intruder. Who died?"

Spock shook his head and raised a finger in the air. "First of all, it is not-" he mouthed, but interrupted himself, clasping his hands behind his back as two women walked past into the room. He tugged McCoy by one arm in the opposite direction until they were standing behind a potted palm. "It is not a funeral parlour, Doctor," he whispered. "Please, do not say anything more while you are here. There are rules to follow."

McCoy jerked back away from him. "Which you unfortunately neglected to warn me about _before_ we-"

Spock grabbed both of McCoy's arms tightly. " _Please_."

McCoy wilted, letting out a soft sigh. "Fine. But would you mind telling me exactly what one _does_ at the Letar Society?" He held out his hands palms up.

Spock pressed his lips closed, then turned and tilted his chin upward towards the dark curtains before covering both ears with his hands. He arched an eyebrow.

The blood drained out of McCoy's face. He closed his eyes and breathed in and out once. "Contemplative _Silence_." One hand covered his face. "It's got a lodge. But of course." McCoy threw his hands up in the air. "Why not? It's got everything _else_ , heaven knows," he exclaimed, pacing back and forth.

Spock grabbed one of his arms, but McCoy yanked it away again. As he spun around, he bumped into something. McCoy looked up and saw the Vulcan doorman who had admitted them to the building, glowering at him. He turned. Several society members stood at the entrance to the room, regarding him with a mixture of annoyance, curiosity, and anger. "Ummm..." McCoy glanced down at his shoes, blushing, then lifted his head towards the Vulcans, an innocent expression on his face. "Sorry?"

The Vulcans did not reply. Instead, they slowly retreated from the doorway and returned to their silent contemplation.

"Right." McCoy slowly backed up towards the front door. "Ock-spay, I ink-thay it's ime-tay to am-scray," he muttered.

A shadow loomed over him. McCoy turned. Once more, the doorman stood before him, casting a long shadow. In his hands, he held out a small opaque glass jar. McCoy reached out for it, and the doorman held it away from him, then extended it toward him again.

McCoy turned to Spock, a look of confusion on his face. "What does he want?" he mouthed.

Spock leaned toward him. "You disrupted the sacred silence of this establishment," he whispered quietly. "Those who commit such a violation are obligated to contribute to the penalty jar. _No_ exceptions."

"Penalty jar?" McCoy mouthed, looking back and forth between Spock and the doorman, who regarded him with thinly veiled impatience. Rolling his eyes, McCoy reached into his pocket for a wad of Federation universal exchange notes and stuffed the bills into the jar, then grabbed his jacket and shrugged it on. "Well, so much for that," he sighed, hurrying towards the front door.

"Indeed." Spock glanced over his shoulder, then sped up, matching McCoy's stride. "I don't expect _either_ of us will be welcome here any time soon," he added as they stepped onto the porch, a note of disappointment in his voice.

McCoy slowed, then stopped at the foot of the stairs. "Gee, I'm awful sorry, Spock. To get tossed out on your ear like this because of me." He kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk. "And I embarrassed you in front of all your fellow silence groupies. Might as well have paraded up and down the halls with a brass band." He sighed. "I feel like a heel."

Spock put a hand on the doctor's shoulder as another bus crested the hill, then hurried down the street to the bus stop, McCoy following after him. "You have no cause to berate yourself, Leonard. First of all, I neglected to inform you properly about the nature of the Letar Society, so that you could adequately prepare for the experience. Second, although I was fully aware of your reasons for taking this impromptu shore leave, I nevertheless exposed you to stimuli, or rather lack of same, which has already provoked a strong emotional response in you previously. Lastly..." He paused as the vehicle rolled to a stop and opened its door, then ascended the first step, one hand resting on the doorframe.

"Lastly..." McCoy waved a hand at the Vulcan.

"You are hardly to blame for your frustrations." Spock's mouth curved slightly. "Your reactions were entirely normal. For a _Human_ ," he added as he stepped up toward the fare reader.

McCoy frowned, then shrugged. "I'm not sure how to take that..." he trailed off, tapping his comm on the reader.

"My intention was neither to insult or compliment," Spock assured him as they took their seats in the back of the vehicle. He stared out the back window at the society's building until their bus rounded the corner.

McCoy glanced down at his stomach and patted it. "Oh, well. Time for lunch." He met Spock's gaze, but the Vulcan moved his head to look past him. "What are you looking at? Is Lurch watching to make sure we don't come back?" he quipped, standing in his seat and leaning over Spock's shoulder to look out the open side window on his left.

"No," Spock replied, arms crossed over his chest. "As a matter of fact, I was just imagining you... _clomping_ around the Letar Society's parlour in full dress regalia...blasting a _trumpet_." He narrowed his eyes and pressed his mouth shut, a soft laugh escaping from his throat nonetheless. "I believe such a spectacle would be worth whatever penalty 'Lurch' might see fit to levy."

"Wouldn't that be a sight?" McCoy snickered, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "But you have to bring your lute." He played with the zipper of his jacket, smiling. "Knowing your compatriots, they'd probably have us arrested for disturbing the peace, and Jim will kill us both. After he stops laughing, that is." McCoy leaned back and closed his eyes. "Good thing Jim's a dab hand at creative log-writing, or we'd be in hot water with Command and the Vulcan consulate."

Spock nodded. "Yes. As I believe you might say, 'thank heaven for small mercies.'"


	23. I Find Your Lack Of Silence Disturbing

It was nearly 1500 when McCoy sought Spock out. After inquiring of three different officers where the second in command might be found, he was finally directed to one of the communications lab's soundproof rooms. "But he doesn't wish to be disturbed, Doctor." The dark-skinned chemist held a beaker at eye level while he poured the contents of a test tube into it, eyes crinkling as the mixture turned bright purple. "He's performing a _very_ sensitive experiment." He eyed the beaker for a moment more, then set it down on the table, crossing his arms over his chest and glancing back and forth between McCoy and his work.

"All right, Creighton, I can take a hint." McCoy shook his head. "I'll leave you to your...personal cloaking spray? That is what you're working on, right?"

Creighton gave him a thin smile. "You'll thank me someday. Imagine a world where all you have to do to avoid the Prime Directive is just not bump into anyone."

"And avoid all forms of verbal communication," McCoy added, counting on his fingers, "sneezing, pulling out your tricorder...unless you made that invisible, too..."

The chemist sighed. "One thing at a time, Doctor. You haven't cured _all_ disease yet." He climbed up onto a stepstool and reached for a jar of blue powder on the highest shelf, setting it down on the counter. "Now, where did I put that solute..." he muttered, opening the cabinet door.

"Best of luck," McCoy called over his shoulder as he left the room. Creighton, his head in the cabinet, didn't appear to hear him.

Five minutes later, he stopped in front of the soundproof room, shifted the tray of food he was carrying to his left, and pressed a button on the panel next to the door. The white glow of the blinking light which usually signalled the presence of a visitor to somebody inside was absent. He pressed the button again. No response.

Confused, he laid his tray on the ground next to the door and tapped out a message on the screen of the door panel. "'Spock, I brought lunch. Open the door.'" He waited for a moment. "'Spock. Earth to Spock'," he continued. Concerned, he changed the screen to video feed. The room was unlit. Another tap revealed a single body heat signature consistent with a Vulcan. Sighing, McCoy returned to the main menu and selected manual override, then punched in his code.

Lifting his tray from the hallway floor, he entered the room as the door slid shut behind him. Loud music and nature sounds filled the room. Squinting as his eyes adjusted to the pitch-black, he felt around with his hands, locating a table. He set down the tray, then continued past a bank of computers against one wall towards the opposite end of the room, where Spock sat in silence.

McCoy had just extended his hand towards the Vulcan's shoulder when Spock inched away from him. "Computer, turn off the soundtrack and increase lighting gradually to normal over a period of two minutes." He stood up then, removing a pair of earplugs first, then a black blindfold.

"Did your Vulcan senses tell you I was here?" McCoy took the items from Spock and laid them next to a console nearby.

Spock reached around the doctor and pressed a button, bringing the computer screen back to life. "That and the aroma of the salad you were kind enough to bring me," he replied, fingers dancing over the keys. "I had a very light breakfast this morning."

"Oh, that?" McCoy glanced over his shoulder at the tray, chuckling. "No, that's not for you. I thought I'd eat my lunch in front of you and observe your physiological responses to food deprivation."

Spock's hand pressed against his abdomen. "That is most _un_ kind." He straightened up from the computer and raised an eyebrow at McCoy, looking around him towards the food. "Are you quite finished jesting, Doctor?"

McCoy raised both hands in surrender. "Go ahead." As they pulled out chairs on opposite sides of the table, he reached for a strip of carrot and dipped it into the salad dressing. "So," he muttered, carrot twirling at the corner of his mouth, "what's the big experiment? And why does it involve a blindfold?"

"I took myself hostage," Spock deadpanned, "and I was holding myself for ransom, but then you came along and spoiled everything." He gave such a convincing imitation of a pout that McCoy had to choke back a laugh. "Consider us even in the sarcasm department, Leonard. Now," he continued, stabbing a leaf of lettuce with his fork, "in all seriousness, I was conducting a series of controlled experiments to determine the effectiveness of various forms of sensory deprivation methods." He bit into the lettuce with a loud crunch, wincing as he did so. "Each has its own advantages and disadvantages. The blindfold and earplug method, for instance, while crude, can be improvised with a variety of different materials. However, assuming one is prepared, there are several more effective options for engaging in uninterrupted contemplative silence."

"Silence. Again." McCoy poked a straw through the top of one of the two juiceboxes on the tray, then sucked on it loudly.

"Yes, Doctor." Spock speared a chunk of tomato. "Silence." He popped it in his mouth, already reaching for another forkful. "If you like, I could demonstrate the other methods I have been experimenting with," he offered, licking a drop of dressing off his mouth.

"Sure." McCoy shrugged, setting the juicebox down on the table. "I _need_ my daily dose of crazy like some folks need vitamins."

Spock inserted his straw into his juicebox and lifted it to his lips, sipping quietly. "If you will follow me." Rising, he led McCoy towards an escape pod that had been painted black on the inside. "I modified this pod to create a silence capsule." He pressed a button on the outside, causing the door to open with a hiss. "While it more than adequately eliminated sensory stimulation, I found it to be rather...confining."

"I can imagine," McCoy agreed, peering into the capsule. "Kind of like a coffin." He shuddered.

"Next," Spock continued, "I draw your attention to the silence suit." A black hooded jumpsuit was draped over an adjustable chair. "Lined with soundproof, light-canceling foam, it is vastly superior in terms of comfort and efficiency. That said, in the event that I am called to the bridge, changing back into my duty uniform requires time which I may not have."

McCoy brushed his fingers against the fabric. "I wonder if I can get PJs made out of this stuff," he muttered.

"I now direct your attention to the silence helmet." Spock set down his juicebox and lifted an opaque black headpiece from its place on a small stand. "It is significantly lighter than previous iterations, and has the advantage of being easily removable in the event of an emergency. I shall demonstrate." Raising the helmet above his head, he slid it into place with a soft click, covering his face completely. "It relies upon a sound-jamming frequency which can be enabled with the press of a button, here," Spock added, pointing to a small panel. His voice echoed inside the helmet, deepening it.

McCoy studied the panel, then rapped on the front of the helmet with one fist. "How do you breathe in that thing?"

Spock pressed a second button. Air hissed in and out, matching the pattern of Spock's respiration.

Crossing his arms over his chest, McCoy frowned, shaking his head from side to side. "I have a _really_ bad feeling about this."


	24. In The Cards

"And that's all there is to it." Crewman Third Class Lo licked her lips as she set the stringed instrument back on its base. She reached for her water bottle and took a quick drink. "The hardest part of playing the Etrovian tongue harp would be learning the quick plucking movements. Once I've mastered that-which I haven't, yet-" she laughed, "-it ought to be a cinch." Her hand rested lovingly on top of the instrument. "My goal this year is to be able to play "The Fantassando" all the way through without mistakes."

Leonard chuckled. "Well, if anyone can _lick_ that problem, it'll be you, Flora." They shared a smile. "What song were you playing just now?"

"Sendal's "Lava Concerto", first and second movements." Lo brushed a lock of black hair from her forehead and adjusted a piece of sheet music she had propped up on a stand. "He has such a beautiful soul. Have you ever been to one of his concerts?"

"Can't say I have." McCoy glanced across the assembly hall and spotted Kirk standing near a booth by the door. He turned back to Lo. "That was beautiful. Now, if you'll excuse me..." He stepped back and headed in the captain's direction. A sign next to the entrance welcomed fellow crew and visitors from Nebula Station B to the _Enterprise_ hobby fair.

He found Kirk bending over a basin of a blue gooey substance, sleeves rolled up and hands buried in it. "It's so cold," he muttered.

"It's supposed to be." Lieutenant Allyson adjusted his glasses until they sat straight on his nose, then peered at the timepiece on his wrist. "Okay, sir, you can take your hands out now." He handed Kirk a long piece of paper towel. "Dry them off thoroughly, then put them in the basin on your right and pull them out quickly."

Kirk obeyed. "Oooh," he hissed, shaking his hands dry. Droplets of a red liquid hit McCoy's tunic top. "That tingles."

Allyson nodded. "Sit down and hold your hands under the light." He turned on a long necked lamp and gestured for Kirk to take a seat. Several alien timepieces sat on the table to his left, the more mechanical ones opened up to show the workings. Calendars from various worlds hung on the wall behind him, and a replica of a Tabenian prophecy stone stood nearby.

"Hey, Bones," Kirk said, not looking at the doctor. "check it out. Jeffrey's going to predict my future." He extended his hands forward until the light hit them.

"And here I thought you were getting a manicure." McCoy leaned against the side of the table. "Fortune telling with frosty clay?"

"The Pan Yourin tribe on Setames XIX swears by it." Allyson peered at Kirk's hands, turning them from side to side. "It is said that the patterns produced by the application of clay and tisilaberry juice indicate one's immediate destiny," he explained, trailing off as he studied Kirk's markings. "Of course, it's all stuff and nonsense. Probably has more to do with skin temperature, perspiration, etc. But I've always been fascinated by other peoples' perceptions of time and the future."

Kirk raised his eyebrows. "What do you see in mine?"

Allyson reached for his tablet and tapped the screen a couple of times. "According to this..." He smiled weakly. "...a period of testing awaits you. Sorry, sir."

"Stuff and nonsense indeed," McCoy grinned. "Speaking of testing, when was the last time I gave you a fitness assessment, Jim?"

Kirk groaned. "Thanks a lot." He pointed a thumb at McCoy. "Why don't you see if you can find my foot in _his_ future, Jeff?"

Allyson shook his head, lips tight, trying to fight back the smallest of grins. "Too risky. Besides, there's a...line." Two female civilians who couldn't be older than twenty one were standing behind McCoy. The taller of the two winked at McCoy, then lowered her eyelashes at the white coated lieutenant, who blushed crimson.

"I can see that. C'mon, Jim." McCoy angled his chin away from Allyson's table. "There's got to be somebody who likes to cook in their spare time. I'm starving."

Kirk stood, shaking hands with Allyson. "Maybe you ought to keep a log book of how many of your predictions come true. In the name of science, that is..." He turned to McCoy, smiling. "Plus, it's a good excuse for collecting the comm codes of certain parties. Am I right? Catch you later, Jeff."

"I take it you're speaking from experience," McCoy remarked drily as they slipped away. "No booth for Jimmy boy. Oh, no. He's a _free-range_ hobbyist."

Kirk pointed at his chest. "You know me. Can't even stay in the captain's chair." He cracked a knuckle. "Actually, I was thinking of making an appearance later, maybe giving motorcycle rides in the corridors. Wanna try?"

McCoy frowned as they passed by a jewellery making exhibit and a slide show of various avians from different planets. "Don't you dare. Chosen profession aside, blood isn't _my_ hobby-" he thumbed his own chest "-any more than filling out accident report forms is _yours_ ," he finished, jabbing Kirk with his index finger.

"Nah, _your_ hobby is being a professional pain in the _butt_."

"Says the guy who wanted to plant his boot squarely-"

"Hey, check it out. Spock has a booth."

"Spock?" McCoy followed Kirk's outstretched finger to the next aisle. The Vulcan stood with his back to them, pointing to an object on his table while a small child frowned, clutching his father's hand. After a couple of moments, they moved on, the boy eagerly pulling his father towards a display of brightly colored candy. "Doesn't look like it's very popular, though," McCoy noted.

"Let's change that." Before McCoy could reply, Kirk was weaving through the crowd towards Spock's exhibit. Sighing, he followed behind slowly, stopping only once to enjoy the scent of spenfola blossoms that emanated from a booth to his right.

"Leonard." Spock nodded his acknowledgement to McCoy, then seated himself. "I am surprised to see you. I was under the impression that you were "all silenced out"." He indicated the table, which McCoy could now see was covered with a black tablecloth. A glass case containing plushies sat on one side, while a tablet with a dark screen was propped up on a stand nearby. The silence helmet hung on a hook next to a monitor screen that appeared to be running advertisements for the contemplative silence holoprogram. A bowl of silence crunchies accompanied a pitcher of black liquid and a stack of disposable cups.

McCoy picked up one of the crunchies and popped it in his mouth. "Oh, no, you can _never_ have enough silence," he deadpanned, leaning back against the table and chewing on the snack.

Kirk, who had been engrossed in the ads, now reached for the helmet and pulled it on. He extended his arms out in front of him, groping around blindly. "How do you see with this thing, anyway?" he asked, his voice muffled.

"You don't," McCoy replied.

"Right." Kirk moved around in a circle, hands swaying from side to side to orient himself.

"While you and I may share an affinity for silence, Doctor, it would appear we are in the minority." Spock frowned as a Thararian couple passed by, trunks in the air. "I had hoped to-"

"-win more converts?" McCoy crossed his arms over his chest. "You know, it's not too late to break out your lute or the chess board, if you still want to-Jim. No. That's the-" He winced as Kirk stumbled headfirst into the silence pod, landing on his backside. "-silence pod."

"Ow." Kirk shook his head from side to side before removing the helmet with a soft popping sound. He squinted at the light, then held the helmet out in front of him, hand pressed to the side of his head. "This thing oughta come with a warning sticker." He leaned against the pod and tried to stand, but his legs gave way.

Spock pushed back his chair and took the helmet from Kirk. "My apologies." He replaced the helmet on its hook and offered a hand to the captain, who took it and stood up slowly. "Have some silenceade," he suggested, indicating the stack of cups and pitcher. "It is quite refreshing."

"Good idea." Still a bit dizzy, Kirk removed a cup from the stack and poured himself a drink. "'To silence,'" he toasted, lifting the glass high. "Or should I say..." He mouthed the words, smiling as he took a sip.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Now you've got it." He gave Kirk a thumbs up and looked around the room. "I haven't seen Nyota anywhere. I thought she'd be with you, demonstrating sign language or some such thing." He waved his hand at the silence booth. "Unless she's tearing out her hair, or curled up in a ball screaming, that is."

Spock's eyebrow raised. "Neither. As fair coordinator, she cannot afford to spend all of her time patronizing my exhibit...or-ahem-throwing a tantrum. The last time I saw her, she was helping Ensign Vanderwahl set up a quilting frame in the handicraft section."

"Mm." McCoy studied the rest of the items in Spock's display. A cardboard box held several information brochures for the Letar Society, while a small monitor ran through slides that McCoy recognized as scenes from the silence musical. He smiled at one of the behind the scenes images, which showed the cast members mugging the camera while Spock raised a disapproving eyebrow at them; another showed McCoy dipping a paintbrush into a can of black paint as Uhura and two other women worked on assembling a black tree prop.

Just as he lifted the lid of the silence box, a small black album caught his eye. "May I?" he asked, reaching for the book.

"I would not have included it in the display otherwise." Spock pushed the album across the table to McCoy, who picked it up and opened it.

Apparently recovered, Kirk set his empty cup on the table and moved to stand beside McCoy. "I used to have one of these. Kept all my "Heroes of Interstellar Space" cards in it." He scratched the side of his head. "I dunno what Mom did with 'em when I moved out." A sigh. "Probably in storage with the rest of my junk." He shrugged.

McCoy placed a hand on Kirk's shoulder. "Where they're much safer than they'd be cruising around with a man who'll earn his own card someday, if he hasn't already." When Kirk smiled, he turned back to the book and began flipping the pages slowly.

Each transparent sheet contained nine cards, all in pristine condition. McCoy studied one which featured a painting of a stern looking bald Vulcan wearing forest green robes. He stood upon a rocky ledge, pointing downwards at a crowd of other Vulcans below. "Mana...tee-how do you pronounce that?"

"'M'Na Th'zi Obar.'" Spock turned the book sideways and turned to the back of the page, pointing to the writing on the card. "A monk from the Sect of Shronas."

"Looks more like an Old Testament prophet to me. Calling down fiery judgment on all the unbelievers." McCoy shook his fist and raged in a poor imitation of Obar's expression.

"He was the first Vulcan ever to achieve both _kolinahr_ and _haeshtuu._ " Spock folded his hands together. "Although many Vulcans have mastered one or the other, only seventy-eight Vulcans other than Obar have managed to accomplish both in the three thousand years since."

" _Kohlinahr_..." McCoy snapped his fingers. "The purging of all emotions, am I right?" At Spock's nod, he shook his head. "Darned if I know what that second one is, though. What'd you call it? _Haeshtuu_?"

"Gesundheit." Kirk snuck a round plushie out of the case and began tossing it up and down in one hand like a baseball.

Spock's ears twitched. " _Haeshtuu_ is the term for complete and perfect silence. One who achieves _haeshtuu,_ a _haeshtuuel,_ makes no sound. Footfalls, respiration, communication...all are entirely inaudible."

"What?" Kirk caught the plushie and squeezed it. "That's impossible." He put the collectible back on its shelf and chose a star-shaped one, juggling it between both hands.

"Difficult? Yes. Impossible? No." Spock snatched the star plushie out of midair, eliciting an annoyed "Hey" from Kirk, and examined it closely for damage. "It requires extraordinary discipline, dedication, and an environment conducive to _haeshtuu_." He returned the plushie to the shelf. "Had Obar served on the _Enterprise_ , for example, I doubt he would have been successful. There are far too many-" Spock grabbed the crunchie bowl before it could topple onto the floor "-distractions."

He shot a frustrated look at whoever had backed into his table. Clad in a blue jumpsuit, the woman apparently didn't notice Spock's glare, as she was already turning onto the next aisle of booths. Spock pushed the bowl back in its place and tugged on the end of the tablecloth to straighten it. "Case in point."

"Yeah, I could see how that might be a problem." Kirk reached for a pyramid-shaped plushie, but thought better of it and rested his hand on the table instead, tapping his fingers on the cloth soundlessly.

McCoy frowned. "No audible sounds. Not even a cough? A sniffle? A belch?"

Spock shook his head. " _Haeshtuu_ is both a physical and mental discipline. Acolytes must be in peak condition in order to maintain it."

"No emotion and no sound." McCoy threw his hands up in the air and laughed. "He'd make one heck of a spy, let me tell you that. No, even better; an _assassin_. Following you in the dead of night, lurking in dark corners. Nobody would even know he was _there_. Until it was too late..." He clutched his throat and bugged out his eyes as Kirk stifled a laugh.

"Vulcans do not _lurk_ , Doctor." Spock poured himself a glass of silenceade. "It is most unbecoming." He took a sip and pointed at another card in the album. "S'nth O'oi Valera. Healer of K'Juhn. She was responsible for significant advances in life science technologies twelve centuries ago."

McCoy studied the image. A placid looking woman faced forward, blonde hair hanging just below her chin. She wore burgundy robes and held out a scanning device. "A fellow physician. What's her connection to silence?"

Spock took another drink. "She won the Awenat Award for her innovative life sign detection devices. Prior to her discovery, practitioners of contemplative silence were occasionally entombed alive, especially among the less enlightened people groups."

McCoy winced. "You'd think somebody would at least check for a pulse, for crying out loud."

"Valera's work has saved many a _haeshtuuel_." Spock flipped the page. "This one is quite rare. R'rih Ma'al Levad. Also known as "Levad the Inconsoleable". A legendary competitive silence athlete known for crying every time he lost a match." The brown-robed Vulcan pictured wore a morose expression on his face. A single tear coursed down his cheek.

"And he didn't have to turn in his Vulcan citizenship?" McCoy poured himself some silenceade and set down the pitcher, then brought both hands to his face. "Gasp."

Spock's lips parted, but he said nothing and pointed to another card. "T'luh G'tae Sessar." He showed the card to Kirk and McCoy. Standing ramrod straight, the Vulcan wore an early 23rd century Starfleet commander's dress uniform, complete with cap and a very un-Vulcan buzzcut. "Leader of the legendary Light Ground Squadron Sierra, famous for their highly effective coordinated combat maneuvers. All accomplished without speaking a single word."

"impressive." Kirk leaned over Spock's shoulder. "Y'know, I think I've heard of him before. Didn't he make fleet admiral last month?" He reached back for a handful of crunchies and ate one.

"I believe so." Spock flipped to the end of the section and turned a black divider. "The next section of my album is "Portraits of Silence"."

"Isn't that what we were looking at before?" McCoy raised his glass and drank half of the sweet, syrupy beverage.

"No." Spock shook his head. "Those were " _Masters_ of Silence"; individuals who have made significant contributions to and/or achievements in the field of silence."

"Here's my contribution." Kirk stuffed the rest of the crunchies in his mouth and mimed zipping it shut. "Do I get a card now?" he mumbled through closed crunchie-filled lips.

McCoy elbowed Kirk in the ribs. "What is it, then?" he asked, draining and setting down his empty glass, ignoring the captain's "ow".

Spock turned the album around and handed it to McCoy. "See for yourself."

"Hm." Kirk wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and came to stand beside the doctor.

"What do we have here..." McCoy's voice trailed off. Each card was completely black on the front, with unreadable words embossed in the lower right and left-hand corners. McCoy flipped the protective sheet and read the backs of the cards. "'Midnight at the north pole on the fifth moon of Cleor', 'Under the Bed', 'Solar eclipse as seen from Comet JN-223-Pacelli', 'Fobolt-Jungstein vacuum generator in standby mode'..." He scratched his head. "What's the difference? They all look the same to me."

"At first glance, yes. Only by studying each image in depth can one fully appreciate the nuances." Spock folded his hands behind his back. "Every card depicts a different set of conditions under which contemplative silence can be experienced."

"Portraits of...silence. I get it now. Wish I didn't, but..." McCoy puffed out a breath and turned the pages. "'Cargo containment unit, _Rigel_ -class shuttle'. 'Eneais Catacombs in winter'. 'The black ice caves of Yupidali Minor'." He closed the book and handed it back to Spock, massaging his brow. "I thought I'd seen it all. I really did. I-I don't know." He sighed and moved away from Spock's booth, beckoning Kirk to follow. "Come on, Jim. Let's get out of here and find some lunch before I lose my appetite."

"All right." The captain yawned and stretched his arms upward. "I saw Chief Sanders making a Denebian lasagna about an hour ago at his colonial cuisine booth. It should be done by now." He rubbed his stomach. "Want us to bring you back a plate, Spock?"

"Yes, thank you. Be sure to save room for a dark chocolate silence muffin." Spock moved the crunchie bowl aside and reached underneath his table, lifting up a platter of baked goods covered with plastic wrap. "I based the recipe on one of my mother's."

"Mm." Kirk licked his lips and nudged McCoy's arm with his elbow. "What do you say, Bones? Chocolate plus silence. Match made in heaven, or not?"

McCoy shut his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I think I'm going to _need_ some chocolate after all that silence."


	25. Accept No Substitutes

"Hey, Doc." McCoy looked up from a pile of hyposprays laid out on the low table before him. Hikaru Sulu stood by the doorway of the physician's lounge, a PADD tucked under his arm. "I didn't think I'd see you until our phaser recertification course tomorrow."

"That makes two of us. I tried to squeeze in some target practice this morning, but there was a line halfway down the corridor." McCoy ran his hand over the hypos and selected one. "What brings you to my chamber of horrors?"

Sulu gave a mock shiver. "I was just down in the botany lab, checking on Ernestine-"

"Who?"

"Ernestine. My Abrenian centipede snare plant."

"Ah." McCoy shook his head. "You and your plants. Why do you give them names, anyway?"

"So I can tell 'em apart." The helmsman shrugged. "Anyway, Kinney was there and asked me to swing by here and drop this off." He reached into the pocket of his uniform pants and pulled out a transparent packet of tiny green leaves. "Catullan spiral fern. He said you'd know what it was for."

"Just set it down here right next to my own personal disaster area." McCoy patted an empty spot on the table next to a clear polyplastic bin with his empty hand. "They're not perishable. But crushed and steeped, they make a surprisingly palatable fever tea."

As Sulu leaned over to leave the packet where McCoy had indicated, the doctor's empty hand shot out and yanked the helmsman down towards the floor. "Congratulations. You're drafted."

Sulu jerked his arm backwards, confused. "Come again?" He glanced towards the doorway.

"You got somewhere to be?" The hypo activated with a flick of the doctor's fingers.

Sulu shook his head. "I traded bridge shifts with Raymond so he could attend a ground combat exercise tomorrow. My time's my own for the next couple of hours."

"Then you're drafted." McCoy yanked Sulu down again, giving the helmsman no choice but to seat himself on the floor beside the doctor. "Help me out here."

"Sure, I guess." Sulu set his PADD on his lap, leaned forward towards the bin of hypos and removed one, twirling it. "What are we doing?"

"Pressure tests." McCoy passed Sulu a small device made of a spongy material. "Sync the sensor pad up with your tablet; the test program will automatically load. Once it does, press each hypo against it like you're giving somebody a shot." He demonstrated and studied the screen, nodding. "If it tests good, put it in the 'good' bin." He dropped the hypo in the bin. "Bad ones go here," McCoy added, indicating a similar bin that sat between them on the floor.

After syncing the sensor device with his PADD, Sulu reached for a hypo from the untested pile and injected it with a _hissssss_. "Sickbay looks like a ghost town. This one's good," he added, binning it and selecting another.

"Such is training week." McCoy's hand shot out to prevent the injector head of a hypo from rolling onto the floor. He deposited the pieces of the broken device in the 'bad' bin. "Everybody's everywhere except where they're _supposed_ to be. Computer engineers learning a new programming code in the arboretum. Galley staff performing siege escape drills on the battle bridge. Sickbay staff taking a course in workplace trauma management in the _holodeck,_ of all places. I'm supposed to join them in three hours." He glanced at the time code on his PADD. "I offered them the use of my lake house program, but apparently it's not as _exotic_ as Parale."

Sulu smiled. "Can't beat those warm sea breezes." He selected another hypo and tested it, frowning as he tossed it away.

McCoy snorted. "I'm not going to miss a thing. They'll be too busy eating Paralean coconuts and dancing in the moonlight." He leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. "Once we're finished with these, the bad ones go to the tool maintenance department for repairs. Usually, I just send the whole lot down to engineering and let them run the tests," he added, "but I had some time to kill." _Pop!_ He frowned at the hypo in his hand. "Ouch. Try that one on a living person and they'd have a nice suction bruise." He rubbed his neck, rolling his eyes. "We _already_ get enough vampire jokes around here. The last thing I need is somebody leaving sickbay with a love bite."

"These two don't even turn on." Sulu dropped the hypos into the 'bad' bin and stretched his arms above his head, then reached for another. They worked in silence for several moments until Sulu paused and gave McCoy an uncertain look. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it.

McCoy's hand hesitated over the sensor pad. "What?"

Sulu shook his head. "I don't know if I-" He closed his mouth again. "I'm sure he's just-"

"For the love of Pete, spit it out. _Who's_ just _what_?"

"It's Commander Spock." Sulu slumped back against the couch. "As I was leaving the shooting range half an hour ago, I saw Spock in one of the lanes. He was...well, he looked _angry_. He had one of those Aigren Phuse 380s we confiscated from the _Lunar Dawn_ a month ago and was just pumping round after round into the holotarget." Sulu shook his head. "You two have a fight or something?"

McCoy let the hypo fall to the table. "What makes you think he's mad at _me_? Could be Jim set him off, or he and Nyota had a lover's spat. Who knows what's going on in that Vulcan brain of his? I may be his doctor, but I don't read his diary."

"Well, you do have a running feud going on over _Contemplative Silence_." At the lift of McCoy's brows, Sulu shrugged. "So I hear."

McCoy shook his head. "No, no. _I'm_ the one who gets angry. Spock's the instigator. He just sits back and watches me have a conniption. Him and his silent noisemakers, blank screen movies..." He sighed. "Sometimes I swear he invented the whole thing just to push my buttons. Computer, locate Commander Spock."

" _Commander Spock is on deck thirteen. Location: shooting range._ "

"Still?" McCoy rubbed his forehead with one hand.

"Told you he was mad."

" _Mad_? Have you _seen_ the effects of a Phuse 380? If he's still firing away, I'm surprised he hasn't depressurized the entire range by now." McCoy got to his feet and stepped over the 'bad' bin. In three quick strides, he was heading to the door. "I'd better check on him." He stopped and turned to face the helmsman. "Can you finish up here?"

Sulu lifted himself up onto the couch and pulled the table closer, then selected a hypo. "Go. I'll put the fern leaves in your office when I'm done."

"Thanks, Hikaru." McCoy spun on his heel and hurried out of sickbay.

* * *

A pair of sliding doors parted at McCoy's approach. He glanced over at the security station that flanked the weapons range. The officer on duty was absent, the chair pulled away from the desk. McCoy spun the computer monitor around and entered his serial number into the visitor's log. He ran his finger up the list, stopping on Spock's name. "71 minutes already..."

He snatched up a pair of safety goggles and put them on, then did the same with a set of headphones before heading to the range window. A lone figure clad in a black undershirt and uniform pants stood legs apart in one of the lanes, arms held out in firing position. With a series of rapid orange energy bursts, he obliterated holotarget after holotarget, stopping only long enough for the energy gun to recharge.

McCoy waited through several rounds of firing until the Vulcan finally engaged the safety and lowered his weapon to the table, then pressed the intercom switch. "Spock. I need to talk to you. Spock..." He turned the comm button on and off, making the alert light blink. Only then did Spock remove his ear protection and turn around, shoulders tense. "Let me in." With a soft sigh of resignation, Spock pressed a button on the wall. A low buzzing sounded and McCoy entered the range. "I need to speak with you."

"Certainly. Is something the matter?" Spock set the headphones down on the table next to the 380 and leaned against the booth wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

McCoy removed his safety gear and adopted a similar stance, tapping on his elbow with his fingers. "I don't know. Why don't you tell me?" At the tilt of the Vulcan's head, McCoy gestured toward the weapon. "Interesting choice of gun for target practice. Illegal in thirteen sectors, if I recall rightly. Not exactly the kind of thing a Starfleet officer would typically train with."

Spock exhaled a quick breath. "You are correct on all accounts. I have often found, however, that it pays to have experience with a wide range of different types of weaponry, as one never knows what resources will be available to them in a moment of crisis."

"Baloney." Spock's brow twitched. "I saw your little one man firing squad demonstration, Spock. Unless you're planning to take out the entire Mortrian Militia singlehandedly, there's no need for such a gratuitous display of firepower." McCoy pulled a chair away from the back wall and gestured toward the one opposite him.

The Vulcan stiffened. "You can hardly term it a display. I was not expecting an _audience_."

"I know that. What I don't know is _why_." McCoy leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Care to share?"

"No." Spock removed his goggles and set them down. "If you will excuse me, I have a physical training session in the gymnasium." He turned to leave the room, but McCoy stopped him with a hand to his arm.

"Why? So you can destroy it with your bare hands and make a boatload of work for a maintenance team?" McCoy huffed out a breath. "Look, tell you what. Consider this a private counseling session." He reached over and switched off the viewing window, then the intercom. "Just tell me who made you mad. I swear, I won't tell a soul. Cross my heart," McCoy added, making the symbol over his chest.

Spock pried McCoy's hand from his upper arm. "Let go of my shirt."

"Was it Jim? I'll beat him up for you," McCoy offered, making a fist.

Spock's lip twitched. "I am sure you can think of a reason for that which does not involve me." One eyebrow raised.

Leonard's shoulders slumped. "All right, then, I'll let him beat _me_ up for you. Eh?" He looked Spock in the eye and tilted his head to one side. "Come on? Not even a little?"

"Ha ha. Are you satisfied?" When McCoy did not answer, Spock picked up the chair McCoy had previously pointed out to him and set it down across from the doctor, then took a seat, back straight. "Proceed with your counseling session."

"Come on, I can't talk to a wall. Loosen up." McCoy hooked an arm over the back of the chair.

Spock settled back in his seat, but kept his hands folded on his lap. "You claim to seek the motivation for my actions today, and I suspect you have already attributed it to an outburst on my part." He exhaled. "In that, you would be correct. I received news from New Vulcan that...greatly upset me today."

McCoy's face fell. "Your father?"

"No." McCoy opened his mouth to say something, but Spock silenced him with a raised finger. "In answer to your next question, there has not been a death. You may recall a mutual acquaintance of ours, T'Mar."

"Of Helios device fame?" Spock nodded. "How's she doing?" McCoy asked.

"Quite well, doctor. We occasionally correspond regarding the progress of New Vulcan and her research." Spock cleared his throat. "Recently, she attended a terraforming conference on Inasie VI. After lectures had ended for the day, she and some colleagues browsed around the marketplaces." His fist clenched. "At one of the kiosks, she met a Dijeerian merchant who had a variety of items for sale, which he claimed were 'Vulcan' in origin. In addition to a variety of teas and some replicated objets d'art, there were several items of merchandise related to..." His voice trailed off. "' _Vulcan Quiet_ '."

"A magic potion that'll make you stop talking? Shut up and take my money." At Spock's glare, he held up a hand. "Kidding. Go on."

Spock picked up a tablet from the table nearby and handed it to McCoy. "'Vulcan Quiet' is a knock-off of _Contemplative Silence_."

"A knock-off?" McCoy laughed. "You're joking."

"A very _cheap_ knockoff, I might add." His brows lowered. "Even the name is _absurd_. Vulcans do not preface everything with the word 'Vulcan' any more than Humans do with 'Human'."

"Oh, sure." McCoy set the tablet in his lap. He held up one hand and began counting on his fingers. "Except for the Vulcan Science Academy, Vulcan Learning Center, Vulcan's Forge, Vulcan Geological Administration...shall I go on?"

"In that case, 'Vulcan' refers to the institution or location's planet of origin. I am speaking of the way you label _objects_. Vulcan mint, Vulcan strawberry, and Vulcan robe, for instance. We prefer to use the correct term in our own language." Spock indicated the tablet. "T'Mar sent me a copy of a _Vulcan Quiet_ program. As you can see, it bears little resemblance to the genuine article."

McCoy turned on the tablet and tapped an icon in the lower right hand corner of the screen. A video loaded and began to play. He studied it for several moments. "I don't see a difference."

"Look closely." Spock leaned toward McCoy and pointed at the upper left corner of the video. "Note, for instance, the lines that move up and down the screen."

"What lines? I don't see any-"

"The subtle differences in color gradation, ranging from the darkness of a starless sky to a deep charcoal."

McCoy squinted. "Still no."

"The single white pixel that appears and disappears at random intervals throughout the program. Reminiscent of a certain paint droplet-"

McCoy threw his hands in the air. "Oh, for cryin' out- Can't you let that _go_ already?!"

"Shh." Spock held up a hand to silence the doctor. He cocked one ear towards the tablet's speaker. "Do you hear that, Doctor?"

McCoy tilted his head to the side, straining to hear. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

Spock turned up the volume. "Listen again. Carefully, this time."

McCoy cupped one hand to his ear. Soft notes emanated from the tablet. "Ah. Sounds Hawaiian." McCoy hummed along with the music and waved his fingers back and forth. "Mmm, mm mm mm, da, da...oh, sorry," he apologized, glancing up at the Vulcan. "You were saying?"

Spock's lips pressed tightly together. "I was _saying_ , as you can plainly see, _Vulcan Quiet_ is a blatantly obvious attempt to capitalize on the success of _Contemplative Silence_."

Leonard nodded. "Or to break up the monopoly. Appeal to the lowest common denominator, mayhaps." He shrugged. "I prefer _Shut Up and Think_ myself."

Spock raised his chin. "It is an affront to everything Vulcans and _Silence_ stand for."

McCoy chuckled. "Maybe they oughta sue. Call you as an expert witness." He held his hands up in the air. "You could turn out the lights and let the silence speak for itself."

"As an amateur, I am hardly qualified to testify on this matter. However, should they bring such an action against the makers of _Vulcan Quiet,_ I will make a point of following the proceedings closely. I expect they would emerge victorious, given the amount of evidence in their favor." Spock stood and began to pace back and forth, hands behind his back. "In addition to this... _abomination_ , there were several works of literature, articles of clothing, and games, all in varying shades of gray or dark blue." A shudder. "Can you _imagine_?"

McCoy covered his face with both hands. "Believe me, I'm _trying_." He leaned forward on the table. "That offer's still good, by the way. If you're interested."

Spock raised a brow. "Which offer?"

"Getting Jim to beat me up while you watch." McCoy rubbed the back of his neck and winced. "Although to be honest, I kinda feel like he already _did_."


	26. Silenceitis

McCoy smiled at the audience. "That concludes my presentation." He nodded to acknowledge their applause. "Thank you. I will now be taking questions, if there are any." He raised his slide clicker and changed the image to a zoomed-in microscopic view of the virus. Clearing his throat, he then reached for his water bottle, which sat on a stool nearby, and took a swig of cold water. "Yes," he replied, pointing at a young blonde woman in the fifth row who had her hand slightly raised. "Doctor..."

"Lindsey Werner. Not a doctor, actually," the woman admitted, tugging on the right sleeve of her green jacket. "I work in the informational services department at Kitea Waystation. We receive several ships from Iselie and the surrounding area on a regular basis."

"I see." McCoy stepped to the edge of the stage and gave her his full attention. "And you're concerned about travelborne infections, naturally?"

She nodded. "We have many families living and working on and around the station. As you know, when you live in a major exchange post, it's not a matter of _if_ , but _when_." Werner smiled grimly. "I was kind of hoping you might be passing out free samples of the serum so I could bring some back and put our people's minds at ease."

McCoy cleared his throat again. "As much as I'd like to oblige, Ms. Werner, I don't have any with me at the moment. I can provide Kitea with the chemical formula, however. Your medical clinic does possess a chemisynthesis device?"

"I think so, but I'll have to check with Inventory. We just got a big shipment from Central Supply. They were still unloading it when I left." She smiled and took her seat. "Thank you, Doctor."

"Anything I can do to put your mind at ease, ma'am." McCoy picked up his tablet and made a note on it. "Any more questions?" Several hands shot up. "Yes." McCoy pointed to an older bearded man. "The gentleman with the jelly donut in the back."

"Ganaussis Plinch, Naus to my friends. Yes a doctor, despite my poor dietary choices." He chuckled and took a bite of the pastry. Some of the others around him laughed, too. "Microbiology chair, University of Lumabede. I was wondering if you noted any similarities in those members of the landing party who did not fall ill. Blood chemistry, immunity to other similar diseases, etc."

McCoy raised a finger. "It's funny you should ask that, actually. While preparing my talk for this conference, I noticed that six of the eight patients who responded well to the serum had undergone a two-month field training session on Wrobel III within the last three years. Five of the eight grew up on planets with relatively thin atmospheres, so there may be a link to radiation exposure. And of course, there's their service aboard the _Enterprise_ itself - radiation again."

"All worth noting," Plinch agreed, stroking his beard.

"Yes." McCoy coughed. "In cases like these, it's difficult to draw links between potential causes and effects without a larger patient pool and further research. I'm afraid that's a task better suited to academics than starship chief medical officers. As of this moment, there are three other diseases circulating through the crew which my staff assures me are well under control. That's considered a _light_ week on the _Enterprise_." A low titter rose from a contingent of Starfleet medical officers who wore assignment patches indicating their current stationing on Rolfu VII's artificial ring system, where the conference was being held. He set down his tablet and took another drink from his water bottle. "I'll be publishing my findings in next month's _Frontier Contagions_ , but I'll also be making my case notes available on Starfleet's MedNet for anyone who wants to investigate further."

"I'll look forward to reading it," the microbiologist replied. Licking his lips with a smack, he flushed and took his seat. "That's powdered sugar, not my eagerness." The audience laughed again.

McCoy raised his hands in the air and held them out to the crowd. "I may be mistaken, but I think he just stole my thunder. Naus, you got more laughs in two minutes than I did throughout the entire talk. If you ever get tired of medicine, I'll hire you on as my warm-up act." Plinch nodded his head in acknowledgment. McCoy strode to the other end of the stage and scanned the rows. "Next question...Dr. Gratton, I believe?"

* * *

"Thanks for the ride, Ciunas." After clapping the shuttle pilot on his shoulder, McCoy exited the shuttle. He shifted his bag on his hip before continuing down the ramp. He took a moment to inhale deeply. "Ahhh. Good old shuttlebay air."

"So you prefer engine grease to the sweet smell of antiseptic? Me, too." Scotty's voice emanated from somewhere to McCoy's right. "If'n I had it me way, the one'd smell like the other. Antiseptic like grease, I mean."

"Scotty?" McCoy circled the shuttle, looking for the engineer. He spotted an escape pod that was currently propped up on a repair frame and rapped on the hatch. No reply. "Where are you?"

A rush of air behind him made him take a step forward and turn around. A helmeted redshirt climbed up out of a small trapdoor in the ground and kicked it shut. He sat down on a nearby crate and puffed out a breath. "I ken, those receptor compartments get wee-er every week." Scotty pulled off the helmet and wiped his sweaty, grease-stained face with a corner of his shirt.

"It couldn't be that you're gettin' bigger, now, could it?" McCoy teased.

Scott dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Nay. I stopped growing years ago, ever since I traded in _real_ food for an engineer's diet. It consists mainly of handfuls of whatever you can snatch between crises, which isn't much."

The doctor smiled. "Not much time for salad in between emergency surgeries and quarantine protocols, either."

Scott nodded. "Maybe after I retire, I'll write a cookbook for those poor souls what come after me. _101 Ways to Prepare Sawdust_." He stood up and straightened his clothes, then reached for the helmet. "How'd your presentation go? I would've attended, but I figured I might drown you oot with all me snoring."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Thank you for not comin', then." He swallowed and tugged at his collar. "I think I did a fairly decent job. Spoke for about two hours, fielded questions for half an hour afterwards. Ahem. Sure makes a man powerful thirsty, though. Can I buy you a drink?"

Scott smiled. "Sure. Just let me clean up first." They walked across the bay, passing several crewmembers and entered a small washroom facility. McCoy leaned against the tiled wall as Scott turned on the sink and began to scrub his greasy hands with yellow liquid soap from the dispenser. "Before ye return to business as usual, I feel it's only fair to warn you about Spock."

McCoy jerked forward. "What's he done now? Painted the bridge black? Issued uniform-colored gags to all the departments?" He ran his hands through his hair. "Started a shipboard annex of the Letar Society?"

Scotty shook his head. "Nay, nothing _that_ drastic." He stuck his hands under the water to rinse them, then splashed his face, sputtering as he did so. "Didn't you get the memo?"

"Nah, I haven't checked my messages for two days. What memo?"

"The one about Silence Week. Participation is voluntary, of course, but you may notice the halls might be a little quieter and darker for the next few days." Scotty shook the excess water off his hands and pressed a button, dispensing a white towel. He grabbed it and patted his face dry, then dematerialized the towel.

"That Vulcan will be the death of me." McCoy sighed and threw up his hands. "He's suckin' all the life out of this ship, one silence at a time."

"Maybe so, but you have to admit, at least it conserves power." Scotty shrugged. "And some of the crewmembers have really taken to it, especially the scientific departments. Word is there's been an increase in productivity in the records section, as well. Fewer distractions." He grinned at the doctor. "I might even get some of my flamin' requisitions filled for a change."

McCoy followed Scotty out the hallway exit door and down the corridor to one of the turbolifts. "I just hope sickbay hasn't caught the silence bug." He coughed. "Nobody likes to visit a clinic that resembles a mausoleum."

"Nobody _likes_ to visit sickbay, period. They _have_ to." Scott entered the lift and selected the floor manually.

"Oh, I dunno about that." McCoy tapped his fingers on the handhold. "Beth Kearns seems to find plenty of excuses to drop by. It'll be a cold day in the arboretum when that woman _doesn't_ think she's coming down with something." He tsked and shook his head.

Scott stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I think that might have more to do with Doctor Casell than hypochondria."

"Really?" McCoy moved towards the door as the car shuddered to a stop. "Come to think of it, he _was_ the attending physician on call the last two times, that I know of." He shrugged and exited the turbolift, Scotty behind him. "Well, I'll be. Beth and Travis. That might explain his request for time off this weekend. Maybe he thinks if he takes her out proper, she'll quit bugging him at work."

"Or perhaps he wants the time off to avoid her," Scott chuckled.

"I don't really care either way, as long as it gets that woman out of my sickbay until I summon her or she comes in on a stretcher. Do you know that I almost hung my jacket on her once?" McCoy entered the ship's refreshment room and signaled to the bartender, who removed two glasses from behind the bar and set them on the counter, awaiting their orders. Swallowing hard, he turned to the engineer. "What's your pleasure, Scotty?"

* * *

McCoy rolled over in bed, coughing raspily. He stretched his arm out and reached for a bottle of water on his bedside, knocking it over in the process. With a growl, he sat up and rubbed his eyes, blinking. "Confound it!" He clutched his throat as the words came out hoarsely. "Computer, lights." The room remained dark. Sighing, he rolled out of bed and groped around in the darkness until his hand touched the lightswitch.

Ten minutes, a shower, and a fresh uniform later, he strolled into sickbay, nodding at his colleagues as he passed by them. Stifling a cough, he continued on into his office and secured the door behind him. He unlocked a small cabinet above his desk and removed a small glass bottle containing a green beverage, which he poured into a shot glass.

" _Bragoon_ before breakfast?" A red-haired doctor waggled his finger back and forth. "For shame, Leonard." He set down a bin full of sample containers on the couch and joined McCoy at his desk. "Rough night?"

McCoy shrugged and took a sip, grimacing. He set the glass down.

The other doctor leaned forward on one elbow, studying McCoy. "You know what would make it better?" He picked up the glass and rolled it between his fingers. "Stop pretending you're not sick and take your medicine like a big boy."

McCoy's eyebrows raised. "Who said I was-" His mouth snapped shut as the words came out souding gravelly.

The doctor smiled. "Busted. Usually when you show up in the morning, you're barking orders, calling the shift meeting, checking on patients. Not setting a record for the hundred meter cross-sickbay dash." He set the glass down. "One of the first rules of medicine: any sudden changes in behavior are suspect. You've said as much on numerous occasions."

McCoy leaned back in his chair. "Yeah, I did say that, didn't I, Travis? All right, let's get this-" He cleared his throat and winced. "-over with." He opened a drawer and removed a medkit, pushing it across the desktop.

Casell opened the kit and began to scan McCoy's throat with the medical tricorder. "Pulse slightly high. Temperature elevated. Throat tissue is definitely inflamed," he noted as he studied the screen, a serious expression crossing his features.

"No kidding." Leonard rolled his eyes. "For this, I need a professional?"

"Open up." Casell removed a sample probe from its casing. "There we go. Just gonna tuck that in there," he added, swabbing the back of McCoy's throat. "Give it a little twist..."

"Cut the play-by-play and tell me what I've got." McCoy coughed as Casell removed the probe and sealed it in a capsule.

"Just be glad I didn't make you parade out there in patient whites and stocking feet." Travis headed for the door of McCoy's office and stuck his head out. "Hey, Pat. Plate this for me?" He passed the sample capsule to the medical tech, then reached for the bin of containers. "I'll be by in a few to look at it." He glanced back at McCoy. "Don't get any ideas about disappearing on me. And lay off the _bragoon_." His cheeks pinked at the chief's frown. "What's the matter? Did I overstep?"

McCoy shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. "Nah. We have a sayin' here in sickbay; you sow what you reap. That _includes_ bedside wisecracks." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I'll just lounge here on the couch until you come back with the bad news." He walked over and plopped down on the couch, leaning back on his folded arms.

Ten minutes later, Casell re-entered, carrying a tablet and stylus in his left hand. He raised his eyebrows. "Congratulations, Doc. You're the lucky winner of a case of Cranician laryngitis." He passed the tablet to McCoy, who scrolled through the images; vital sign readings, a scan of his inflamed throat tissue, a close-up microscopic image of the tiny blue viruses, a graphical projection of the infection's likely course. "Fortunately for you, it looks like you're past the contagious stage. It only lasts about six hours."

McCoy frowned. "How'd I ever run into that one? Nobody's been allowed anywhere _near_ Cranice since they instituted their seasonal quarantine last month."

"Well, you _did_ attend a medical conference. All those people in one big room, shaking hands..." Travis shrugged. "Something's bound to spread to someone from somewhere."

Leonard coughed and handed the tablet back. "It's a blasted petri dish, that's what it is. You'd think a bunch of doctors'd _know_ better." He puffed out a breath of air. "Suggested treatment?"

Casell scrolled down the page. "A course of liornofilnin, plenty of sleep, and..." He tucked the tablet under his arm.

"And what?"

"I'd recommend complete vocal rest for the next week, unless you want to damage your voice permanently." Casell made a note on McCoy's file. "I'll have to inform Starfleet Medical about your condition so they can alert the other attendees, as well." He pointed his stylus at McCoy. "Tell you what...I'll sign yours if you sign mine. Excuse slips, that is." He scratched the side of his head. "My brother sent me some of my old hologames in that last supply shipment. I thought I'd try to beat my high scores."

"Is that all you've got planned?" McCoy winked. "Why don't you ask Beth if she'd like to-"

Casell held a finger in front of his lips. "Uh uh. Write it down." He glanced down at the tablet. "I'll send Teresa in here with your meds. Then it's off to bed with you." Backing out of the room, he nodded at McCoy. "And...um, about Beth? I'll think about it."

* * *

Leonard entered the crowded recreation room. A spirited game of ring toss was taking place in the far left corner, while two women in casual clothes were putting together a four-dimensional puzzle near the doorway. Two couples had spread a blanket on the floor and were enjoying a picnic lunch of fried chicken and watermelon. McCoy grinned. A cross-legged Travis was smiling at Beth as he passed her a soda. The wiry brunette didn't appear the slightest bit ill as she accepted the can from her crush. Neither appeared to notice him. Their dining companions, two Twanelian security officers, were seated side by side, holding webbed hands and watching the other couple with amusement.

He headed past the happy couples towards a small table on the right, where Kirk sat, deep in thought with a stack of tablets and file clips next to him. The doctor tapped Kirk on the shoulder.

Kirk looked up. "Hey. What's with the casual wear?" he asked, indicating McCoy's green wool turtleneck sweater and blue denims.

McCoy sat down and removed a small tablet from his pocket, typed out a message, and passed it to Kirk. _Off work. Cranician laryngitis. No talking allowed. Supposed to be in bed, but didn't want to._

"Ouch." Kirk winced. "Get better soon." He frowned. "Wait a minute. _Leonard McCoy_ disobeying a doctor's orders? Gasp." He widened his eyes and covered his mouth with one hand, fanning with the other. "Whew! I can smell the hypocrisy from here."

 _Bored to tears,_ McCoy wrote. _Not contagious. Close your mouth, Jim._

"Okay, okay." Kirk pressed his lips together and held up his hands in surrender, then hunched over his notes again. "But the next time _I_ play checkup hooky, I get a free pass, _capisce_?"

 _No promises. What are you doing?_ McCoy looked over Kirk's shoulder. A series of meaningless vectors and calculations covered the tablet screen, liberally annotated with notes in Kirk's handwriting. Doodles of question marks and spirals filled the margins.

"Navigational plotting." Kirk rubbed his eyes. "Starfleet's adopting a new framework in the next series of computer program upgrades and all the captains have to familiarize themselves with it. L-redirection, non-linear wave grids..." He shook his head. "I thought I was a genius, but now I'm starting to wonder."

 _Get Pavel to tutor you._ He _ought to understand all these scribbles._ McCoy frowned.

"Yeah. Probably." Kirk yawned and shoved aside the tablet, twirling his stylus around. "Wow. What do you plan to do with all that free time?"

 _I dunno. Have some medical journals to catch up on, but don't feel like reading about other diseases right hurts like I'm swallowing gravel and glass. Tired, but can't sleep._ He sank into a chair. _I was hoping_ you _might have an idea._

"Well, I guess glee club's out of the question." Kirk grinned, leaning on one elbow.

 _No kidding._ McCoy swallowed hard, grimacing. _Ow_. _Feels like when I had my tonsils out as a kid._

"Tonsils..." Kirk tapped his lower lip with one finger. "Hey. I know. Let's go get some medicine."

 _Already had some. Uck._

"Not _that_. The kind that doesn't need a prescription and comes with hot fudge, whipped cream, and sprinkles." Kirk forced a cough into his hand. "I think I'm catching something, too. Ahem."

 _You're a terrible liar, Jim._ _But I could go for a creamsicle._

"Captain." Both men looked up. Spock stood by the table, hands folded behind his back. "Doctor."

McCoy tipped his head in acknowledgement.

"Jim," Spock repeated, "as you weren't answering your communicator, I came to personally remind you that we are to rendezvous with the _Wren_ in two hours." He gestured at the pile of tablets. "Your signature is required on several documents beforehand."

Kirk groaned. "Can't you just forge it for me or something?"

Spock frowned. "I _could_ , but I did not wish to take the liberty nor set the precedent." He picked up a tablet and opened the paperwork files, handing it to Kirk. He looked at McCoy. "Leonard. I was apprised of your condition. May your recovery be both swift and complete."

McCoy nodded. _Thank you._

"I suspect the likelihood of that outcome would increase if you availed yourself of the opportunity to sleep." Spock narrowed his eyes, then looked away. "I am certain you are already aware of that, however. Since you appear determined to rebel against doctor's orders, I _can_ offer a possible compromise."

 _What's that?_ McCoy asked, massaging his throat.

Spock acknowledged two passing science officers as they greeted him, then returned his attention to McCoy. "Rather than languish in your quarters, you might consider participating in Silence Week activities instead." He raised an eyebrow. "There are a variety of competitive silence tournaments, activity sessions, and film screenings scheduled in the next few days." He checked his communicator. "I will be teaching a beginner's air lute class in assembly room 4 ten minutes hence. "

McCoy's mouth dropped open. Mouthing the words _air lute?,_ he exchanged glances with Kirk, who just shrugged. McCoy turned back to look at Spock.

The Vulcan replace his comm in his pocket. "You are welcome to join us, if you wish."

McCoy shook his head. _I'll pass._

"Very well. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a few last-minute preparations to make before the class commences."

 _Like what? Unscrewing all the lightbulbs? Or maybe warm-up exercises. Finger crunches? Lip presses?_

Kirk stifled a laugh. "Good luck, Spock. I'll try to drop in for a minute after I finish my paperwork."

"Thank you." Spock turned to leave, then paused and looked McCoy in the eyes. "Perhaps it is fortuitous that you acquired the infection when you did, Doctor. This way, you will not have to feel left out or lonely during your convalescence." With a nod, he left the room.

Kirk stood up and hefted the pile of tablets and clips into his arms. "Looks like I have a lot of homework to do." He sighed. "What about you, Bones? Frozen treats or a silent music lesson?"

"Mmmm." McCoy leaned forward and buried his head in his arms. "My nice warm bed's startin' to look a _lot_ better..." he whispered.


End file.
